Reverse World
by Boy On Strings
Summary: Where everything you know about Teen Wolf is backwards and a little bit broken.
1. Empty

**Author's Note:**

**I'm writing this story for LowlifeTheory, who has a lot of incredible writing in the Teen Wolf archives here that you should check out if you haven't already. In order for the following story to make sense you'll need to read the prompt that was it's inspiration. I'm not sure if I'll add more to this story or not, I suppose it will depend on if it lives up to the expectations of the person who wanted someone to write it. It's... different from other stuff you may have read on here, but I don't think that makes it any less gripping.**

**So anyway, LowlifeTheory, this is my thank you for writing about a special cookbook, hopefully I captured at least a small bit of the essence of the idea you had.  
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**Here was the prompt:**

**Derek/Stiles**

**Derek and Laura are hunting the pack that killed their family. They've been somewhat successful in killing some of the pack.**

** The Argents are a ruthless pack who will tear into anyone who get in their way (or even the ones that they feel like killing), human or wolf. They're a traditional pack who live by old values.**

** Stiles is the omega of the Argent pack, mistreated and abused.  
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** One night when Derek's found a trail through the woods he comes across a battered werewolf running from his abusive pack. He holds a gun to the wolf's head...but something stops him and instead he brings the wolf home.**

** Derek could be a werewolf or not _(In my version of this story he's not)_, but either way he's tough as nails until a pair of big brown eyes melt a little of his hardened heart.**

**Warnings: Adult content, dark themes, I don't own Teen Wolf, I don't make any money from this, I just do it hoping that people find something in the stories to care about.  
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><p>Derek cocked the hammer of his pistol and stared down the cold metal length of the barrel. The body on its knees in front of him didn't even flinch. Derek knew what he was supposed to do. He pressed the gun to the body's forehead. The creature didn't move, nothing changed, not even the steady shallow breaths.<p>

"What are you doing Derek?" Laura practically yelled. "Take the shot. The others are getting away!"

Brown eyes, the same color as dried and dying leaves regarded him impassively. Derek took a shaky breath. There was nothing there in the depths. The gaze said: 'I don't have anything for you to take away from me'.

It was wrong, it was all so wrong. Those eyes, on a body that was not even fully grown, they had seen things that Derek couldn't even imagine. Horrors and pain that other people read about, saw on television, and wondered how anyone could live through. Those empty eyes looked like they had seen all of that and more. Derek had watched everyone he had ever loved except for his sister burn to death as his family home crumbled into ash, and he still wasn't prepared for what was hidden in the dull unblinking gaze that watched him. It was like the werewolf couldn't even muster up enough emotion to be indifferent, it was just empty inside.

"This gun is loaded with bullets that will kill you, you know that right?" Derek asked the boy on the ground, his voice starting to shake.

That unnerving gaze never shifted, the young werewolf leaned slightly back from the gun, removing his forehead from barrel. The muscles in Derek's arm tensed up, his finger twitched on the trigger but didn't pull it. Those broken brown eyes looked at him steadily, the boy opened his mouth and stuck it over the end of the barrel, folded his arms behind his back. It broke Derek's heart.

The werewolf, the monster, it was just a kid, it had short buzzed hair, it wasn't wearing a shirt, its arms and ribs were covered in a mass of bruises. The swellings were blotchy purple and yellow masses. For them to even be there it meant that they were fresh, the wolf's healing power should have already cleared them away if they weren't. There were claw and bite marks all over the pale skin, a latticework of suffering that Derek couldn't imagine having lived through.

He thought he saw scars. His throat constricted around the idea. How badly did you have to hurt a werewolf to leave it scarred? He had hunted them mercilessly for years and he didn't know. His arm started to burn, he looked down into the face of that kid, that broken hurt and lost thing and he couldn't pull the trigger.

Those pale bloodless lips, they should have been smiling. Those eyes like the color of withered leaves, they should have been full of life, barely able to contain the energy and wonder of being young and thinking they would live forever. The kid should have been running through the grass, should have been wondering who the first person he was ever going to fall in love with was, what his first kiss would be like. Those eyes told Derek that the boy thought he had done enough living already and he didn't need to see what else was out there.

Laura came up beside him; her voice was a calm fury in his ear. "They killed our whole family Derek, burned them alive. Hunted down and tore apart the ones who made it out of the flames. They're monsters. Every single one of them is a bloodthirsty raving beast. If it wasn't for them, we'd be sitting around our dinner table with our parents instead of hunting these things through the woods."

Derek didn't turn to look at his sister, couldn't meet the fury he knew he would find in her face. He kept looking at the werewolf who was on his knees waiting for Derek to help him. To take away all that pain, all he had to do was pull the trigger.

He pulled the gun out of the kids mouth and released the hammer, tucked it into the holster strapped under his arm. He couldn't do it. For a moment the look in those brown eyes changed, but it wasn't relief, it was fear. Fear of having to take another breath, having to see what new pain tomorrow would bring.

It was all so wrong; the kid should have been laughing. He shouldn't have been on his knees silently begging Derek to kill him. What had happened to the world? How had it gotten so turned around?

"It's not supposed to be like this," he said softly. He wasn't sure if he was talking to Laura, to the werewolf on the ground, or to a god who would let something like this happen. He didn't know.

Derek reached down and wrapped his arms around the broken body on the ground in front of him, picked it up, didn't flinch at all when arms wrapped around his neck and legs wrapped around his waist. He felt the soft dark hair on the boy's head brush against his cheek, felt the small body trembling as hot tears spilled out of its eyes and down Derek's neck. It cried silently in his arms. It wasn't making any sounds at all, he couldn't even hear its breathing.

Derek turned away from his sister, putting his body between her and the werewolf he was clutching as he heard her cock her own gun. Covered the boy's head with his hands, stroked the hair soothingly while using his own body as a shield.

"What are you doing Derek?" Laura asked, her voice was too calm in his ears.

"The right thing," he told her as he started to walk the way they had come, away from the pack of werewolves they were hunting.

The boy he was holding was still shaking as tears fell silently from his face onto Derek's skin. He didn't know why, but that was the worst part, the kid had never made a sound. He never cried out for help, he never begged them to let him go, he just watched them, mouth closed and silent.

It wasn't supposed to be like that, the world wasn't supposed to let something like that happen. He was going to fix it. He wasn't sure how, but he was going to find a way to make this kid laugh, he'd find a way to make him smile. If he could do that, then maybe the world wouldn't feel quite so backwards to him anymore.


	2. Broken

**Author's Note:**

**I'm really glad so many people seemed to like the first chapter of this, I'd imagined people wouldn't like the way it was going. I've got inverted and reversed character notes for pretty much everyone and everything in Teen Wolf, so we'll see how far I get.  
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**This is pretty brutal in my opinion, there are going to be parts of this that get worse, you've been warned.**

**Feel free to call me off or let me know if I'm going the wrong direction LowLifeTheory.**

**I'm sorry Stiles, things will get better, you just have to make it through for now.**

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><p>The young omega wolf stared at the human moving about the small room. The male smelled nervous, that was never a good thing. The werewolf huddled in on himself in the corner, the farthest spot in the room he could get from the man. He didn't want to provoke him.<p>

"What's your name?" the man asked.

The wolf stared back at the human, kept his mouth closed. When he opened his mouth, bad things happened to him. The human seemed to get more agitated by his lack of response. He didn't know what the man wanted. The werewolf hid his face between his knees and put his hands over his head, he didn't like getting hit in the face, better to take it on the arms and shoulders.

"I'm not going to hurt you," the man said, edging closer and kneeling down on the floor nearby, "I'm Derek."

Derek… the wolf thought that sounded like a strong name, he wondered what the man wanted from him. He huddled in on himself more trying not to be perceived as a threat. The man started to smell more agitated; the omega tensed his body up, waiting for whatever was coming.

"We're just going to stay here for tonight; we're going to go to a town nearby tomorrow morning. It's called Beacon Hills. Do you know anyone there?" the human asked.

The name the man said, it sounded familiar but the werewolf wasn't sure why. He kept quiet. That's what he'd always been told to do. A couple of years ago, he'd said something when he wasn't supposed to. It had taken a long time for his mouth to heal from the burns. He hadn't said anything since that night.

"Can you even talk?" the man asked.

The wolf shivered in the corner, he didn't want to be burned again. Sometimes the pack would trick him like that. They would tell him to do something they had told him not to. He used to be stupid enough to fall for it.

He flinched when he felt the hand on his shoulder. He waited for the spiking pain he knew would follow. The hand rubbed his back soothingly, ran up over the fingers he was using to protect his head. The werewolf cringed.

"Don't take this the wrong way guy, but you sort of smell. Maybe a shower will help you feel better. Then I'll get you some food."

The werewolf didn't move, but at the mention of food his stomach betrayed him by grumbling loudly. It had been a couple of days since he had any scraps from the rest of the pack. He was starving. He trembled when the man grabbed hold of his hands; he hated it when they broke his fingers. Those little bones were difficult to straighten out without making any noise.

"I'm not going to hurt you," the man said, his heartbeat even and steady, which didn't make sense to the wolf, "let's just get you cleaned up okay?"

The werewolf let the man named Derek pull him up to his feet. He followed the man obediently into the other small room attached to the one he was in. The werewolf kept his gaze away from the mirror on the wall. He couldn't stand the sight of himself. He didn't want to see the weak pathetic thing he knew would be reflected back at him.

"We just have the motel's complimentary bath products, but something tells me you aren't that picky."

The werewolf watched out of the corner of his eyes as the man turned the water on. It had been a long time since he had been in a shower. When the pack wanted to clean him off they just sprayed him with a hose or threw him in a river. Well they did that when they were feeling especially kind anyway.

"Ok," Derek said, gesturing towards the shower, "just get cleaned up, I'll put some clothes on the counter while you're in the shower, I'm sure I've got something that will fit you."

The omega looked at the human's feet, didn't want to risk looking into his eyes and having it misunderstood as a challenge. The wolf stood very still and waited for what would come next. The human shifted nervously. The werewolf closed his eyes again.

"Seriously?" the human said, his tone sounded exasperated.

The omega shuffled away from him against the wall, started to curl down until the human caught him by the arm. The wolf shielded his face with his other arm; cheekbones were even more painful to heal than finger bones.

No pain came. The werewolf carefully opened one eye and assessed the human's face. He wasn't sure what the emotion there was supposed to be, he sniffed the air. It didn't help, whatever it was, it was something he wasn't used to.

"I can't believe I'm going to do this," the human named Derek said, "Stand up, I'll help you take your clothes off and get you in the shower."

That made sense to the werewolf, at least now he knew what the human wanted. He straightened up against the wall and let his arms fall to sides, flicked his tongue nervously over his chapped lips, panted silently into the steam that was filling the room.

The human moved forward and grasped the button on his pants, the werewolf pulled his arms behind his back, crossed his wrists behind himself so the human could have his way. It was better than being beaten… barely. Depending on how rough the human was going to be anyway. He couldn't imagine it would be worse than being mounted by one of the other members of his pack.

Once the human had removed his clothes, the omega sank down to his knees and reached for the human's belt. He needed to get the male ready; most males didn't like to be kept waiting. The human made an odd sounding noise and jumped away from him.

"No, no way! I'm not getting in the shower with you. You're getting in by yourself." Derek said, his voice was higher and sharper than the werewolf had heard it before. He pulled his hands back before Derek could do anything to them.

What did he want? He didn't want the wolf to get him ready? He wanted the wolf to do it by himself? The human wanted him to touch himself?

"You need to get in the shower!" Derek said.

The werewolf looked up at him. The man wasn't looking at him at all. He was looking out the door back into the room they had been in before. The human must have decided that he found the omega wolf disgusting. That made sense. If he cleaned himself up, then he could make the human happy. If the human was happy he wouldn't hurt him as much as he would otherwise. The omega got off his knees and stepped into the shower.

"Finally," Derek said, sounding relieved, "just get cleaned up ok? I'll put the clothes out here for you."

He had been right, the human wanted him clean. The water felt wonderful on his skin. He didn't have any idea how long it had been for sure, to be allowed to have an experience like this. He used the soap and the … shampoo? So many words he hadn't thought of in such a long time.

He wanted to smell good for the human, if he smelled good he could make the human more interested, he could make him happy. If he did that, then maybe he would get some food. If he made the human really happy, the human might not hurt him at all. It was unlikely, maybe he just wouldn't hurt him as much.

The werewolf scrubbed, scrubbed hard enough that his skin started to turn red. If he could just get all of the bad things off himself, if he could scrape all that skin away, then maybe the human would want to keep him. Derek might want him if he was clean, if he was appealing.

He was afraid to hope, but he couldn't help himself. Maybe Derek wouldn't hurt him very much. That could only happen if he was clean though. When blood started mixing with the water in the bottom of the tub the wolf knew he was on the right track. He just had to keep scrubbing the terrible parts of himself away, there was so much skin to get off, he hurried, blood running down his body as he scrubbed himself viciously. He didn't want to keep the human waiting.


	3. Identity

**Author's Notes:**

**Remember how I told you a lot of things were backwards in the the summary? Get ready to see some foreshadowing of some of it. Hope you like.**

**This is my first draft of this chapter, I haven't had a chance to edit it at all yet, I might not until Saturday, but I wanted to get it up for you to take a look at. Thanks for everyone who has expressed interest so far. The name of the reporter isn't an accident, it's purposeful, sort of an inside joke since I couldn't find the character's real first name, but in Reverse World, things are a little different.**

**Also, cause I'm halfway expecting some reviews to point out certain things regarding the state of the characters in this world, but all I'm going to say is that it's all on purpose, and all a play on the "backwards" nature of this story, and its just the beginning. I'm not the type of writer to throw out details that don't have any purpose if that makes sense. Every single thing that's in here is here for a reason.  
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**Anyway, on with the show!**

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><p>"He's not going to hurt me, the kid's practically afraid of his own shadow." Derek said into his cell as he opened up his laptop. He was going to search for old news stories in the area about missing children to find clues as to the identity of the teenager in the bathroom.<p>

"It's not a kid Derek, it's a monster." Derek frowned at the tone he heard in Laura's voice. Even through the electronic device he could feel the hatred. She decided to get her own room after Derek refused to abandon or murder the young werewolf they had found.

"He's been hurt, that much is clear, we don't even know if he's ever hurt anyone." Derek said.

"If you were smart, you'd kill it and get rid of the body, but since you're just the muscle of our operation, do yourself a favor and chain it to the toilette. It wouldn't hurt to muzzle it either." Laura said.

Derek knew that she was trying to protect him, that's what she always did. She liked to tease him about the choices he made; he knew she didn't think he was stupid. Hell, two years ago, maybe even a year ago he would have just pulled the trigger without ever having a second thought. There was something in the kid's eyes though, something he recognized in himself. It was beyond loneliness, it was the absence of hope. He remembered that fear, suffocating him after his family had been killed. If Laura hadn't been there for him, he could have turned out just like the werewolf had.

"I love you too." Derek said.

"You're so dumb." Laura told him, laughing as she hung up the phone.

Derek smiled to himself as he set his cell phone aside and opened up the browser on his computer. Predictably the internet at the motel they were in was horrible. At least it had free wireless.

He was good at research; he'd been doing it his whole adult life. Searching for clues and hints as to where packs of werewolves hunted. How hard could it be to find out who this boy was? He hoped that the guy wasn't a born wolf. That would make the whole thing incredibly difficult. If he had been bitten though, then maybe there was a family out there looking for him.

Derek decided to start with the nearby town of Beacon Hills. He did a query searching for animal attacks. There were an alarming number of results. He tried to refine his search to look for deaths by animal attacks. That didn't really help very much.

"What the hell?" he said to himself as he flipped through page after page.

There were far too many attacks to be coincidence. How could a group of werewolves get away with so much? It didn't make any sense; the human authorities should have stepped in. He adjusted his search and added missing people into the mix. A headline caught his eye.

'_Death of a Hero'_ was what was written at the top of the page.

Derek opened the webpage and read through it. Seven years ago, the local sheriff of Beacon Hills, a man named Stilinski, had been found brutally torn apart. His son was missing, they had been camping in the Beacon Hills Preserve.

The article said that the local authorities thought it was a bear attack, possibly several bears based on the amount of blood and the state of the campsite. The town had elected a new Sheriff who had experience with animal attacks, a man named Chris Argent.

Derek's blood went cold when he clicked on a link that brought up a picture of the man. Chris Argent was a werewolf, Derek and his sister had fought with the man and his pack once before. Years ago the first time they had gotten close to finding the wolves that killed their family. Part of him thought that the pack they had been hunting last night had been Argent werewolves, the brutality was similar to his previous experience with them.

The Argent family must have been using Chris's position in the community to route suspicion of their activities away from themselves. It was a vicious calculated move that Derek hated the man even more for. He closed the picture before the urge to throw his computer against the wall overtook him.

He went back to the article about the former sheriff. It turned out that the man's wife was still alive. She owned a bakery in the small town. Derek clicked on another link that brought up a picture of the woman. She had dark hair and beautiful brown eyes. She looked sad even though she was smiling as she handed a cookie to a small child clutching his father's hand. He wondered if she was thinking about her family when the picture was taken. He wondered if there was ever a single moment when she wasn't.

That article lead to another, and another after that each one referencing various movements by the local town to investigate the deaths and disappearances. Derek clicked through them feverishly until he found one about a young teenager who was tirelessly looking for his missing friend. There was a video clip attached to it. He opened it and turned the volume on his laptop up.

"We're here with a local high school junior by the name of Jackson Whitmore," a reporter said, "this young man has spent the last seven years searching for his missing friend." The woman with the microphone turned to regard a boy with blonde hair and pale blue eyes. He looked like a model, or at least, he probably would have if he ever smiled. "Jackson," she continued, "can you tell us about what you're doing?"

The young man looked directly into the camera as he held up a picture and leaned down to talk too loudly into the microphone. "This is a kid I used to know," Jackson said, his voice sounded raw as he held up a picture of a young child, maybe nine or ten years old next to a blonde kid Derek assumed was Jackson as a child. The dark haired boy had his eyes closed, caught in the middle of laughing in the picture. "Seven years ago, he was kidnapped when his father was murdered." The reporter looked nervously back at the camera, that's when Derek noticed it was a recording of a live news cast that had been taken several months ago.

"Mr. Whitmore, the police department's investigation found evidence of an animal attack, not a murder or kidnapping." The woman tried to caution him.

Jackson ignored her and held up a police sketch that was in his other hand, it was a rough rendering of a familiar looking boy who had shaggy hair. "This is what experts think he might look like now."

The reporter looked back at the camera, eyes were wide with fear, like she knew something and was afraid to say more. Jackson looked directly into the camera. "How many people are we going to let go missing before we stand up and fight back?" Jackson said, his voice tight with anger as he continued. "What if it's your kid next? What if it's your brother or sister? What if it was your parents who never came home?"

The reporter tried to lay a restraining hand on his shoulder but he shrugged her off and lunged forward grabbing the camera and pulling it close to his face. "I'm going to find you Stiles, I know I saw you in the woods outside of town! Your mom wants you to come home. I'm going to find you!"

The video clip ended, they must have cut the live feed at the kid's outburst. He looked to see the name of the reporter for the event; her name was listed as Holland Martin. Derek opened up his cell phone and made notes of the names of the blonde teenager in the video as well as the former sheriff and the reporter.

He rewound the video to the artist's rendering of the shaggy haired boy. It's possible it could have been an estimation of what the werewolf in the shower would have looked like. If his hair had grown out rather than been shaved off.

The woman in the picture at the bakery had the same color hair and eyes as the werewolf. It was possible they could have been related. The sheriff's death and the taking of the son could have been part of the Argent's plan to set up shop in the town. Taking the boy seemed like an odd choice. Unless the Alpha of the pack had bitten him during the attack and the kid had lived.

Derek needed more information, he wondered if the kid would respond to the name 'Stiles'. That was such an odd thing for a parent to name their kid, but he shrugged it off. There were werewolves in the world, some of which liked to torture each other. He gave up on thinking the world made sense a long time ago.

He glanced back at the bathroom door. The shower was still going. The boy must have really wanted to clean up. He stood up from the bed and grabbed the pajama pants and t-shirt he had picked out. Derek knocked on the bathroom door and then waited for a response. Nothing came. There was only the occasional creak of the bath tub as the weight of the occupant shifted back and forth.

"I'm coming in!" he called out in warning before turning the door knob.

Derek walked over to the sink and set the clothes down. He looked up into the mirror and his mouth dropped open in horror. He could see the inside of the back wall of the shower through the reflection, there was a hand pressed against the wall covered in blood. Derek was shocked, unable to move as he saw the other hand reach forward with claws extended. The kid was tearing long gashes in his flesh, blood dripped into the tub below. The sight was awful, Derek had seen blood and pain, but to watch those claws slice through flesh, to not hear any gasps or crying accompanying it, it was unnatural.

Derek spun around knocking the clothes off the sink and ripped the shower curtain out of the way. The kid stood there with filmy trails of blood streaking his body, there were wounds slowly closing all over him, gouges in his stomach and legs. The face was the worst though, there were long scratches from forehead to chin, almost right through the eyes. They were almost faded from the healing process but the evidence was there. Derek stared in mute horror as the last bits of the wounds sealed themselves. Brown eyes opened and regarded him blankly.

"What are you doing?"

That was all Derek could think to say, he grabbed the werewolf's wrists to keep the claws from digging back into the soft skin that had just been torn open. The werewolf barely responded at all, just tilted its head and regarded him. That empty gaze was unwavering. Derek thought the werewolf was waiting for something. He wished he knew what it was that the werewolf was waiting for, wished he knew what to say to make it better.

"Stiles?" Derek asked. He didn't know what to expect, didn't how the werewolf would react, or even if it would react at all.


	4. Misunderstandings

**Author's Notes:**

**I'll... just apologize now.** **I think it will be best if I get that out of the way first, especially when I follow it with: I might not be able to get another update for this story out until Sunday morning, but we'll see.**

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><p>Derek sighed in frustration when the werewolf didn't react. He let go of the wrist when the claws faded. The force of the shower head caused blood and water to spray onto Derek as it splashed off the werewolf's skin. Derek turned off the water, ignoring the ruddy fluid soaking into his white shirt.<p>

He gestured for the wolf to get out of the shower. It obeyed him immediately. There was something wrong with how quick the reaction came, how eager the wolf was to do what he wanted. Derek grabbed a towel from the rack and wrapped it around the teenager's waist. Even if the werewolf didn't have any problems with nudity, it was making Derek uncomfortable. He pulled another towel off the rack and started to wipe the blood and water off pale skin.

Derek was gentle as he worked to dry off the teenager. When he got the towel over the werewolf's head and started to dry the dark hair, he felt the wet drag of a tongue along his wrist. Derek froze at the sensation. The wolf turned his head against Derek's hand, rubbed gently back into the towel and Derek's skin.

Derek laughed. In a disturbing way it was like drying off a puppy. The werewolf blinked at the noise, seemingly shocked by it. Derek shook his head and tried not to smile. He went back to drying the teenager off, trying to ignore how the body under his hands pushed back against his touch.

"Is your name Stiles?" Derek asked again as he looked into brown eyes that for the first time seemed to have something else swirling in the depths, kept up his gentle patting with the towel.

The wolf made an almost imperceptible nod. Derek grinned. He was getting somewhere. An almost nod and something other than a blank gaze, that was progress of a sort. He dropped the towel he was using and grabbed a fresh one from the rack. He wiped the last traces of blood and water he could find away from Stiles's chest.

"Turn around," Derek said as he reached out and put a gentle hand on the werewolf's shoulder, trying to direct him to spin in place.

The wolf obeyed instantly, the submissive reaction almost obliterated the tiny amount of hope that Derek had started to feel. He gently wiped off the werewolf's back, there wasn't as much blood there, but Derek sucked in a breath when Stiles let his head lull forward. On the back of his neck there were scars, multiple crisscrossing bite and claw marks. Derek touched them lightly with his finger; the body in front of him trembled. He instantly regretted having done it.

How many times? How many times had someone dug their fangs or claws into the kid's neck for there to be scars? Almost as if Derek had triggered a chain reaction the werewolf dropped to his knees, resting his head on the tile of the bathroom floor, arms folded submissively over his back.

Derek thought he was going to be sick, it was so wrong that this teenager, Stiles, would react like that. It was like he was waiting for Derek to get down on the tile with him, to rape him right there on the bathroom floor. Derek watched in baffled silence as Stiles craned his neck backwards to regard Derek, the werewolf was making a conscious effort to not lift his head completely off the tile.

Pain and fear crossed Stiles's face; brown eyes wavered as they watched Derek. Then the shaking started up again, it was more pronounced than before. Why was it happening? Derek took a step forward, moved around to Stiles's side and kneeled down. Stiles reacted by immediately flipping onto his back. The towel came loose from around Stiles's hips as he exposed his throat and closed his eyes tight, almost as if he was anticipating Derek striking him.

Derek pulled his hand back as though it had been burned. He was doing everything wrong. After a moment of hesitation he covered Stiles's naked form with the towel he had been using to dry the teenager's back. Derek didn't know what to do. He reached out his hand and gently stroked Stiles's short hair. It was the only thing he could think to try. It took a few minutes but finally the werewolf's shaking subsided.

Stiles opened his eyes hesitantly. Derek watched as pain and fear were replaced by curiosity. The brown eyes fluttered closed again and the body relaxed under Derek's hand.

"Let's get you into some clothes ok?" Derek said.

Stiles opened his eyes and then nodded slightly. Derek smiled. Stiles tilted his head again as though he didn't fully understand what was happening. Derek got to his feet and offered a hand to help the werewolf up. Derek's smile faded as the werewolf's hand trembled as it reached for him. He gently took the offered hand and helped pull Stiles to his feet, turning his face away from the naked body that rose up out of the pile of bloody towels on the floor.

Derek flinched slightly when Stiles leaned into his personal space and took a deep breath. He tried to ignore the effect that it seemed to have on the young werewolf. It was awkward trying to help a guy get dressed who kept sniffing at him, who was obviously… into whatever it was that Derek smelled like.

Even after the guy was wearing sweat pants, they didn't do much to hide the interest that Stiles seemed to have taken in him. Derek pulled a shirt over Stiles's head and walked him back into the main room. When he gestured toward the bed Stiles moved quickly, spread himself out on his back and watched Derek through half closed eyes. Derek swallowed, his throat constricting at the image.

Derek hated himself for not being able to look away from Stiles splayed out on the bed, looking at him and so obviously aroused. The werewolf's eyes started burning with amber energy as he sniffed at the air again. Derek's throat was dry, Stiles was reacting to what he was feeling. He turned away from the werewolf.

He grabbed a shirt that wasn't soaked with water and blood out of his bag, tried to ignore the rustling movement on the bed behind him as he pulled his shirt up over his head. Derek pulled the new shirt on but he didn't turn to look at the bed. He dropped the wet bloody shirt onto the floor.

"I'm going to go get you some food. Stay here, don't go outside, and don't answer the door." Derek commanded.

There was no response except for the bedsprings squeaking, Stiles must have been shifting his weight on the bed. Derek didn't look. He hurried to the door and tried to ignore whatever was happening.

When he pulled it open he caught out of his peripheral vision the image of Stiles kneeling on the floor, clutching the shirt Derek had been wearing to his face, inhaling Derek's scent off the clothes.

He was half way down the block before he could get the image out of his head, running towards a gas station he knew was just a bit further ahead. He leaned against a telephone pole and tried to get his breathing under control. He stood there sucking air into his lungs for almost ten minutes.

It was when he heard the gunshot that he realized all the mistakes he had made on his way out. Derek hadn't made sure the door to his room was closed. He hadn't taken his phone with him. He hadn't told Laura he was leaving to get food. He had left a werewolf in his room, holding the shirt he had been wearing. A shirt that had been covered in blood held to the young werewolf's face.


	5. Rage

**Author's Note:**

**I'm getting ready to leave for a trip, I'll be gone for a week but I'll try to get another update out before the trip is over depending on how much extra time I have. Worst case scenario I'll get something for you next weekend. This is true for all my stories if you read more than just this one.**

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><p>Laura was afraid. She tried to drown that fear in rage. The werewolf looked curiously at the wound on its arm. The bullet had passed through the muscle, a grazing shot that she hadn't intended to kill it with, only to frighten it. The gunshot didn't have the impact that she wanted.<p>

"Where is he?" she screamed at the creature.

It didn't make any sound, not even a whine of pain. The flesh on its arm knitted back together. The beast was not concerned by the normal bullet she had used. Laura would make it concerned. She'd make it tell her what it had done to her brother.

She ejected the clip of her gun, caught it in her free hand. She dropped the clip of normal ammunition into her coat's pocket and pulled out a deadlier clip. One that was packed with aconite laced bullets.

The werewolf blinked up at her, face covered in blood, in Derek's blood. Laura was afraid to go into the bathroom to see what Derek's body looked like. Her brother hadn't responded when she called his cell phone, hadn't responded when she kicked the door open and called out his name.

Fury ate away at her reason, she was alone now, truly alone and it was this thing's fault. She cocked the gun, loading one of the deadly bullets in the chamber and pulled the hammer back. She put the gun right against the monster's forehead, just the way Derek had earlier that night.

She knew that she didn't have a lot of time. The police may have already been called when the first gunshot went off. She would make this monster suffer though, and then when she heard it beg her to kill it, when she heard the voice of the thing that had murdered the only person in the world she loved, she'd let it suffer more. Those empty brown eyes would show her real fear, real pain, and only then would she kill it.

"He tried to help you!" she screamed at the werewolf. It didn't react at all, just folded its arms behind its back still clutching Derek's bloody shirt. She reached behind it, got a hold on the shirt and tried to tear it out of the thing's grasp.

The werewolf finally reacted, and it was exactly what she had been waiting for. The beast's eyes lit up with molten gold rage, it silently snarled at her with its fangs extended. She yanked the shirt out of its claws, the material ripping as she got it away from the werewolf.

The beast coiled in on itself like it was about to lunge, claws extended from its fingers, blazing amber eyes locked on the bloody material in her hand. She was repulsed by the blood on its face, the dark intensity of its gaze. The change of its demeanor infuriated her. Killing it quickly was not an option, she would watch it writhe in pain, and she would hear it beg her for death.

She pointed the gun at the creature's stomach, knowing it would take time for the aconite poison to spread to its heart. She pulled the trigger with a satisfied smile on her face. The shot was deafening in the enclosed space, the acrid scent of gunpowder clear even to her human senses as it lingered in the room. In the moment the gun went off she saw Derek as a child, his smiling face looking up at her asking if she would play a game with him. This thing had taken Derek away from her. She would have her revenge.

The werewolf looked down at its belly, watched the blood spread onto the shirt it was wearing, a shirt she had bought for her brother. It didn't make any noises as its claws disappeared and the yellow light faded from its eyes, leaving only a deep brown. It brought one of its hands to its stomach, silently wiped it through the blood that was pouring out of the wound.

Laura smiled in satisfaction as the first tremor of pain wracked the thing's body. It would probably be hours before the infection spread to its heart, but the agony of a gut wound was unbearable. She had seen too many allies disemboweled over the years; she knew what the pain looked like.

Her smile died when the werewolf looked up at her. It wasn't pain and fear written on the creature's face. It was gratitude. It was thanking her for putting it out of its misery. It was doing it in complete silence and she wanted to tear its head off of its shoulders so that it couldn't look at her as though it wanted to smile but didn't remember how.

"You're going to die," Laura told the werewolf, "you're going to die and I'm going to watch."

It didn't react to her at all, just watched her as it knelt on the ground with one hand over its bleeding stomach. She wanted it to cry, wanted it to cry the way Derek had cried in her arms when they watched their house burn down. Laura wanted that satisfaction, wanted to feel it. She watched it silently and swallowed against her own pain. She wanted to feel something other than hatred, fear, and loss. She wanted something more from life than that. Now she'd never get the chance.

Laura had wanted to watch Derek marry someone he loved, wanted to see the look in his eyes as someone walked down the aisle towards him. She wanted to see him happy with a family. She wanted him to start over and have a real life apart from hunting these creatures. Now she never would because this thing had killed him for trying to show it a little kindness. Tears slipped down her face.

The look in the creature's eyes changed again. What she saw in those brown depths chilled her spine. It was empathy, like it knew that she had come to the realization that she had lost everything. She closed her eyes against the sight, not wanting to find any kinship in the worthless monster on the floor that had killed her brother.

"Oh god… Laura," Derek's voice rang out, "what have you done?"

Laura opened her eyes and turned to see Derek in the door, the gun she had used to fill the werewolf's body with agony slipped out of her hand and clattered to the ground. Derek was alive. Derek looked horrified at what he saw in the room, more tears streamed down her face, her breathing was choppy and forced.

"Stiles," Derek asked, "are you ok?"

Laura laughed hysterically. He had given it a name, like it was some sort of stray puppy he had found. She watched as his face registered that blood was still pouring out of the creature's stomach.

"I thought it killed you…" Laura said. Her voice barely above a whisper still raw and shaking from the pain she had felt tearing her life apart, "I thought you were gone… I used an aconite bullet because I wanted it to suffer…"

"Oh god…" Derek said. They were looking at each other, but they both turned towards the werewolf when they heard its body collapse to the floor.


	6. Heartbeat

**Author's Note:**

**Felt bad about leaving you guys hanging as I left for my trip, here's something to hold you over for now, may be a couple of days before I get any more out for this story. This was like 75% composed on my e-reader while on a subway train, so be gentle if its terrible yeah? I'm not going to have time to post this on LJ tonight, but it'll be up there tomorrow (just mentioning for people who read my stuff in both places). I'll fix this up more later this week or once I get home next week.  
><strong>

**Shameless promotion: Check out the first chapter of a new story I posted called "A Lion's Share of Fear", it's a collaboration. Check it out and let me and the other author know what you think.**

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><p>"Damn it Stiles look at me!"<p>

There was a voice, far away trying to pull him out of the darkness. There was fire on the other side; Stiles could feel the edges of it pulling at his consciousness. Out of all the things he had endured, he hated being burned the most. Melted flesh did not recover quickly. Blazing heat was one of the few things he was still afraid of. Allison had made sure of that. When he had become desensitized and stopped reacting to her games she found a new way to make him squeal for her.

The omega wolf refused to open his eyes, he couldn't think. The fire was inside him now, coming through the veil of darkness, spreading from his belly through his blood incinerating everything in its path. He tried to retreat into the depths of his own mind. Tried to find all the little pieces he had managed to hide away from everyone else, the memories he had clung to because they were the only things that no one could take from him. It didn't help. Nothing helped. The pain didn't stop; he didn't think it was ever going to stop. It scorched away his self-control, left behind ashes where a combination of willpower and hopelessness used to be.

He couldn't keep it in anymore. He howled out his pain, a wordless, thoughtless, primal expression of agony. Stiles had thought he wanted to die, thought that it would be an end to suffering. He had been so stupid; he was never going to be without suffering. It was inside him now, turning him inside out one nerve at a time.

"Oh my god…" the female's voice said from behind the wall of shadow and heat, "Make it stop! Derek… make it stop making that noise!"

"Laura," the male voice beyond the wall said, "get all of our stuff, we have to get out of here before the police come." The voice got louder, trying to talk over the wretched noise that was coming out of Stiles's throat. "If the gunshots didn't drawn attention to us, this will. Get your shit together. For all we know his pack can hear this call too."

Stiles choked, swallowed up the pain, and forced it down into his gut. If his pack had heard that they would be coming as soon as they finished laughing about it. He clawed his way out of the darkness but the fire came with him, got more intense as he struggled back to full consciousness. He bit his lips hard enough that he felt blood dripping down his chin but the pain didn't register. The fire moved up into his ribs as if trying to mock the attempt at distraction.

Stiles opened his eyes; Derek was leaning over him, tearing the shirt Stiles was wearing so that he could see the wound. The werewolf looked down at his own stomach; each twisting black tendril he could see corresponded to the burrowing lines of fire inside of him.

"Stiles, you're going to be ok." Derek said.

The werewolf could hear the frantic heartbeat of the human, but he didn't know if it was a lie or not, couldn't focus on anything but the sound. The thumping of it, pumping blood through the human's veins, his mind latched on and wouldn't let go of the noise.

"I know how to fix you, but you have to just endure it for awhile longer ok?" Derek asked.

Stiles looked at the human and nodded. The werewolf was good at enduring pain, sometimes he felt like he was made for that sole purpose. He ground his teeth against the burning as Derek picked him up and carried him outside.

Laura pulled open the doors to the back of the van they were using and tossed two duffel bags into it. She didn't say anything as she walked past Derek and headed into his room to gather his stuff as well.

Derek gently laid Stiles down in the back, cushioning his head with one of the bags Laura had thrown inside. Trying to focus on anything but the debilitating darkness that was creeping in at the edges of his vision, Stiles noticed that the van was missing all of its back seats. He felt a gentle pat on his cheek, something about the gesture was like pouring water over the flames in his stomach.

"Stay with me Stiles, just a little longer. Hold on." Derek said.

The werewolf blinked at Derek. The man's voice was soothing, his heartbeat the focus Stiles used to keep the pain from pulling him under. He watched in detached interest as Derek pulled a clip of ammunition out of a hidden panel in the wall of the van.

"This is going to hurt." Derek warned him.

Stiles would have laughed if he could remember how to make his throat form the noise. It couldn't possibly be any worse than what he was going through, what he had been through. Derek pulled apart one of the bullets that had been in the clip, poured the powder and whatever else was inside of it into his hand.

Derek pulled a lighter out of his pocket and used it to ignite the substance, hissed out in pain as his flesh burned along with the powder. The stench of burning flesh filled Stiles's nostrils, making him nauseas. It didn't reek as bad as when it had been his lips and tongue being scorched, but knowing that it was Derek's skin made it somehow worse.

Stiles had thought the pain couldn't get any more intense He was wrong. Derek must have thought he could burn out the fire in Stiles with more fire. He opened his mouth, he was going to say goodbye, in that moment deciding to speak for the first time in years as he felt the darkness closing on him. All that came out was a disgusting black fluid. He was going to try again but he was too tired. As he drifted off he was vaguely aware that the fire in his body had gone out, there was nothing but the steady beating of Derek's heart.

"You're going to be fine." Derek said.

For the first time in a long time Stiles thought that it might be true. The darkness came back, but this time there was no fire with it, just a steady beating drum lulling him to sleep.


	7. Enemies

"According to the guest sign in there were only two rooms rented out in the past week." Allison said. She stepped over the body of the clerk who had been working the front desk. "Rooms 110 and 111 were rented out earlier, a few hours after Aunt Kate escaped from the hunters in the woods."

The dark haired girl didn't even glance at the body of the man as she walked out of the office lobby to join her father just outside the door. The air was cool. She sniffed and pouted, all she could smell was gasoline. Normally that was enough to make her happy, not tonight though. Tonight she was very upset at her aunt and even killing the ignorant man at the desk hadn't cheered her up.

"Don't worry darling, we'll find your toy," her father said. "Let's start with the rooms, we'll see if we can pick up their scents."

Kate fidgeted nervously near her father's police car. With her little puppy missing, that put Kate on the bottom of the hierarchy. Allison grinned to herself thinking of what she would do to punish Kate for losing their omega. Allison had loved him, loved him since her mother had given him to her when she was just a little girl. They had grown up together, she had trained him perfectly. She had just bought him a collar but never got to put it on him; she ran her hands over the spiked leather in her coat pocket. The spikes were on both sides of it, she'd had it custom made for him. He'd have looked adorable.

"Kate, you check 111, Allison, make sure she does it right. I'll check 110." Chris said.

She followed Kate as the older woman walked toward the hotel room. She stopped briefly to get another canister of gasoline, idly splashed it onto the building in various places humming softly as she went. Kate hesitated outside the door to the room, sniffing the air to make sure the room was unoccupied.

Allison grinned when her aunt looked back at her and then the canister of gasoline; it was probably throwing off her senses. Allison didn't care. She tapped her foot impatiently waiting for Kate to open the door.

After a few moments Kate turned the handle to the room, it was locked. Allison sighed at her aunt and dropped the canister of gasoline, not caring that it landed on its side and started spreading its contents onto the sidewalk. She pushed Kate to the side silencing her with an imperious stare when her aunt opened her mouth no doubt to warn her about her impetuousness.

Allison kicked the door open, her enhanced hearing heard the sound of a wire snapping but it was too late to do anything about it. She dropped to the ground in case there was a gun rigged to the other side of it. There was no gunshot, but a hissing in the air as white smoke started pouring from the room.

She tried to hold her breath but she wasn't fast enough, the gas had gotten into her lungs. She coughed; it burned her eyes and her mouth. She felt hands wrap around her ankles and drag her out of the billowing cloud.

Allison retched, her nose and eyes, her ears they were all swelling. It was wolfsbane, the hunters had ground wolfsbane into some sort of powdered aerosol and set it to detonate. It would have been harmless to humans.

"Daddy!" she screamed.

Kate was trying to wipe at her face to get the stinging film off her but she was just spreading it, making worse. She backhanded the woman, only mildly satisfied at the sound of her aunt's cheekbone cracking. Blood vessels in her eyes burst; tears of blood ran down her face.

"You're going to be fine baby, hold on," her father's worried voice was barely audible, she felt like she couldn't hear, she wondered if there was more to that poisonous gas than she guessed. She felt her father pick her up, kick through the door to another room, maybe it was 112. All she could see was red.

She felt blood trickling from her ears and lips, it hurt. Her father dropped her into the bathtub of the room. He turned the shower on, tried to wipe the film off her skin with a cloth, it probably hurt him. Kate should have been the one caught in that blast; she should have kicked the door open and not waited for Allison to do it.

"Chris, Allison, I'm so sorry, I thought there was something on the other side but I wasn't sure." Kate tried to explain.

"Shut up! Go search the rooms, find something useful and I'll think about not telling her mother." Chris said.

It was an empty promise though; Allison had already decided to tell her mother, she was certain her father knew that. It took almost fifteen minutes for the burning to stop, another half hour for her skin to heal itself. She was not happy.

"I want Chocolate back daddy," she was whining but that was the best way to motivate her father, "I miss him."

She wanted to see the omega's brown eyes, wanted to look into those large and frightened depths. That always helped her feel better. She wished he would cry out more, ever since the night with the fire poker and charcoal he'd been too quiet. She loved how he smelled when he was afraid, loved the salty taste of the tears on his cheeks. She missed him terribly.

"We'll get him back I promise. He probably misses you," Chris said. "He was crying out for you earlier remember honey?"

Allison did remember, it had sounded so delicious. He had sounded like he was in some extraordinary pain. It was a noise she'd never heard him make, she wanted to know how it was done, wanted to be the one to give it to him again.

She stepped out of the shower and took the towel from her father's hands, they were red and blistered but the marks were already fading. Whatever had been in that smoke bomb was incredibly vile, she wondered if that's what they had used on Chocolate. She wanted some of her own.

"There's nothing here Chris, nothing useful." Kate said as she came back into the room.

Her father sighed. Allison grinned when his claws wrapped around Kate's throat and forced the woman to her knees. When Kate screamed out in pain Allison clapped her hands delightedly. She didn't know Kate could make such wonderful noises.

"First, you lose Allison's toy in the woods, second you let her get hurt. Now, you're telling me that you haven't found anything useful?" Chris said.

Allison loved the cold rage in his voice. She wanted it to turn into burning anger; there was only one thing more adorable than her father lost in fury. She couldn't wait to tell her mother what Kate had done, couldn't wait to see what she would do. Allison was going to video tape it.

"I'm sorry!" Kate screamed out, her cry of terror escalated when the tendons in her neck snapped under her father's grip.

"Daddy stop, until we get Chocolate back Kate's my only playmate." Allison said.

Her father released her aunt and stepped over her gasping body dismissively. Allison stepped on Kate's ankle as she walked out, chuckled at the sound of the bones creaking and Kate's gasp of pain. She went back to the car and got a few more canisters of gasoline.

She smiled as Kate walked around her in a wide circle, limping slightly on her way back to the car. Allison lost herself in the joy of spreading the fluid around various parts of the motel. The Argents had already killed the few visitors and staff when they first arrived. She regretted that now. Sometimes she got too excited. She wished there were still some of them to play with.

Allison went back to her father's car to retrieve several road flares. Her aunt sat in the backseat looking at her hands for some reason; Allison ignored her and looked at her father. He was looking out into the woods. Her mother was coming.

She threw the road flares into the gasoline she had spread. She smiled as the motel started to burn. Allison loved to watch things burn, she wanted to watch the whole world burn. She sighed and pulled her phone out of her pocket, she looked longingly at the picture of a brown eyed boy looking forlorn. His eyes were full of hopelessness and sadness. She missed him, she wanted to taste his blood slipping down his skin, wanted to smell the spicy fear that radiated off his body when she stroked his skin with her nails.

Tears started to fill her eyes; she was never going to see him again. Warm arms surrounded her, her mother's scent enclosed protectively around her. She turned to face her mother.

"I miss him momma," Allison said, "and the people who took him hurt me."

She looked into her mother's eyes, was cheered up by the burning red anger that ignited in them. Her mother was savage and furious, a primal goddess of the hunt. Allison wanted to be like her when she grew up.

"Don't worry," Victoria said, "I'll find you something to play with until we get him back."

"Really?" Allison smiled and pulled up a picture on her phone, "Can you bring me this one? I see him in the woods all the time. We go to school together. He was Chocolate's friend, maybe I can get them to play together for me?"

"Whatever you want dear, I'll get him the next time he's in the woods. If he lives through the bite you can keep him." Victoria said.

Allison grinned, she hopped that Jackson would survive the bite, she could have a light haired and a dark haired toy. She was so happy that she thought momentarily about not telling her mother about what Kate had done. She got into the front with her dad, her mother sat in the back with her aunt. The opportunity was just too much to pass up.

"Momma, did daddy tell you about what Kate did at the hotel?" Allison asked. She couldn't wait to hear the screams start. She was so excited she almost forgot to start recording it with her phone.


	8. Memories

Stiles felt Derek's arms wrap around him but he was too tired to react. The omega refused to open his eyes as Derek pulled him out of the van. He had no idea how long it had been since he'd passed out. He was starving and exhausted but he was used to that. He'd fallen asleep listening to Derek's heartbeat though and he wasn't abruptly awakened by nightmares or physical pain. He couldn't remember any other time that had happened.

"This is stupid Derek," Laura said. "We've just got into town, it's 5am, and you want to try to find out if this lady really knows that thing you're carrying around?"

Stiles wondered what the female was talking about. He had no idea where they were and he wasn't strong enough to open his eyes.

"Laura just wait with the van," Derek said, "I know you're trying to watch out for me, but I can take care of myself. I can make my own decisions."

"Whatever, the bakery's probably not even open," Laura said.

Stiles flinched when the van door slammed closed; he turned his head into Derek's shoulder. The man was carrying him the same way he'd carried him out of the woods. He clutched Derek's shoulders, wrapped his arms around Derek's neck and tried to go back to sleep. For some reason, when Derek was holding him, Stiles wasn't afraid. Derek's hands were holding his legs; he was wrapped around the man's chest with his head buried in Derek's neck. Derek's scent, his arms, the heat of his body, they all made the omega feel safe. Somehow Derek had saved him from the life he thought he was never going to escape.

Stiles drifted, barely reacted at all as Derek used the wall of the building they were in front of to steady his body long enough that he could bang on the door. Stiles flinched at the sound instinctively, burrowing further into Derek's body to get away from it. Derek made a soothing noise even as he banged again.

"Hello?" Derek called out, terribly loud in Stiles's sensitive ears. "Please, open up."

"We're closed."

The words picked at Stiles's consciousness. A vague memory tried to claw its way to the surface of his mind. He thought it might have been someone singing. He couldn't hear the song though; there were too many screams, too many howls of pain in his memory blotting everything else out.

"I found this boy in the woods, he needs help." Derek said.

Stiles heard the sound of metal locks turning, shuddered when he heard a chain rattling. He hated the chains his pack used to drag him around. Sometimes there was a game they played where they pushed him back and forth while he was hanging from a tree. They hadn't played that game in a long time, they had gotten tired of it when he no longer cried and begged when they wound the chains around his neck. The sound of a door opening behind him pulled him back from sinking into the abyss of his memory.

"In the woods, you found him in the woods?"

The words, the familiar song, he couldn't hear it. He strained his ears but it eluded him. All he could hear was a young female's cruel laughter.

"Yes," Derek said, "Please, can I bring him inside?"

"Of course, set him down over at one of the tables along the wall. I'll get him some water. The bakery is half coffee shop and café these days."

Stiles listened harder but it was no use. The song in his mind was skittering just under the surface of his comprehension.

Derek carried him through the threshold of the building. The warm delicious aroma of baking bread filled his nostrils. It stirred something in his gut. It wasn't hunger, it was longing. He tried to delve back into his memory. There had once been a time when he spent almost every moment of every day wrapped in that smell. Flour, sugar, butter, bread, cookies, cupcakes, and muffins, their scent was everywhere. It was powerful, got inside his lungs and flushed out the memories of the smell of blood, charcoal, gasoline, and burning flesh.

Stiles couldn't open his eyes, he was still so tired, but he sucked in a deep breath. For the first time in years it felt like he was breathing fresh air. Derek set him down in a chair but he didn't want to let the man go. He kept his arms coiled around Derek's neck.

"You're fine," Derek said soothingly, rubbing strong hands against the back of Stiles's head. "No one is going to hurt you here."

Surrounded by the smell of the bakery, lost in the pureness and the innocence of it made Stiles believe what Derek was telling him. He let the man go. He sank deeper into the chair; let his head rest back against the wall behind him. This place was perfect. The omega must have died in that hotel room, or in the back of the van, Derek had brought him to heaven. He almost felt like he was hyperventilating as he breathed deeply and quickly. He couldn't get enough.

"Where in the woods did you find…"

The voice trailed off, it made Stiles sad, it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever heard. The voice made him feel good, wrapped his insides in warmth, banished the memories of twisting barbed wire running across his skin.

"Oh god, you… you found him. Stiles? Stiles baby that's you isn't it?"

The voice was calling out for him; he felt soft hands brush against his cheeks. He wanted to open his eyes but he was afraid that if he did he'd wake up and he wouldn't really be in this wonderful place. He was afraid he'd wake up and he would still be in pain. He wanted to stay in this dream.

"Baby? Stiles baby? Are you ok? I've missed you so much."

Warm hands ran through his hair, brushed aside memories of claws digging into his scalp as his pack ran dull clippers through his hair to groom him.

"What's wrong with him? Is he hurt?"

Soft hair brushed against his face. It smelled like lavender and vanilla. Arms wrapped around his shoulders and pulled him into a hug that obliterated the memories of vicious clawed hands pulling at his flesh.

"Baby open your eyes. Can you open your eyes for me honey? I want to see those chocolate brown eyes."

Chocolate... the voice made it sound like the most wonderful thing in the world. The word spoken by the woman clinging to him cast away the memories of a young girl who lovingly called him that as she licked blood from wounds she opened on his chest with her claws.

He fell forward into the woman, started crying into her neck, wracking sobs tore through his body as he encircled her with his arms. He had thought Derek felt safe, but when she wrapped her arms around him he knew, he finally remembered what safety really felt like. He cried pitifully into the woman's hair. He pushed himself out of the chair, sank to his knees and she followed him down to the ground, clinging to him just as desperately.

"You're ok baby; I'm going to take care of you now ok? No one is ever going to hurt you again."

Her voice was making him a promise. He wanted to believe that promise, wanted it so bad that he opened his mouth, tried to speak, but all that came out was a pathetic whine. His throat constricted; he gasped and swallowed trying to remember how to make his voice work. It had been years, so many years since he'd said a single word.

The woman rubbed his head and back soothingly. "You're ok honey; you don't have to say anything. Holding you again is enough. Touching your hair, touching your skin again, that's all I've wanted for so long. Can you open your eyes for me?"

He leaned back, away from her but kept his hands on her shoulders, gently squeezing and stroking the cotton of whatever she was wearing. It was so soft, not as soft as her hair but the feeling on his skin banished memories of his fingers clawing through the dirt as members of his pack took their pleasure in his pain and anguish.

He opened his eyes; his heart throbbed painfully in his chest. Beautiful black hair surrounded the kindest face he'd ever seen. Rich, dark brown eyes full of life, hope, love and all the things that a person could ever want in their life stared back at him. The sight of the woman, small patches of white flour on her skin, of her tears making those patches into white streaks running down her face eradicated the memory of a cruel sneering young girl. He opened his mouth again, choked on the sensation of air passing out of his lungs.

"You're ok baby, you're ok. I love you," she said, "You don't have to say anything." She leaned forward and kissed his forehead.

He took a deep and shaking breath, he needed to open his mouth, needed to tell her he finally remembered who she was. He remembered the song. He knew her. He needed her to know that he wasn't empty anymore, needed to tell her that she'd taken out so many of the bad things inside of him just by still loving him. He needed her to know that her love had filled him up, kept him alive for years when he wanted to die even though he'd almost forgotten her.

His throat felt raw, his voice cracked as he did it but he managed to speak a single word into the space between them.

"Mom…"


	9. Plans

**Author's Notes:**

**Hope everyone enjoyed their New Year stuff. I'm going to try to post some stuff I'd been working on but hadn't finished today. Hopefully none of it is too rough as far as the editing goes.**

**Forgot to add in my first note, the idea of Stiles licking Derek's hand was inspired by a story I really like called Wolf Hunt and the expanded Art of Healing. While in this world the lick doesn't have any special properties, it was more about instinct and comfort. Anyway, I wanted to give credit where credit is due as it was the first time I saw it and really liked it. **

**The author of those stories is Mordraugsereg.**

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><p>Derek felt like he was intruding on the moment taking place on the floor of the bakery. He was amazed that Stiles had finally spoken. He hadn't laughed, he hadn't smiled, but he had a start on getting back to a regular life. There was just one thing still standing in the kid's way. Derek was going to hunt every single one of the Argent wolves down. He was going to do it for himself, for Laura, and for everyone in this town that they'd hurt.<p>

He clenched his fist, ignoring the pain in his hand. Compared to what the Argents seemed to have inflicted on others, his burn wound from the gunpowder he's used to cure Stiles was nothing. Derek already knew where he was going to begin; he was going to start with that reporter Holland Martin. She knew something. He intended to find out what.

He turned away from the mother clutching her son on the floor, glad he couldn't hear the words she whispered into his hair. That was something private, just for them. He knew that he should tell her about her son's condition, about him being a werewolf, but now wasn't the time. He needed sleep, needed to find the Argent wolves and make sure that they couldn't track the boy to the bakery. If they knew who he was then it was likely they would know where to look for him. He needed to convince Laura to help him while he tried to fortify their house and the bakery against werewolf incursion. That was going to be harder than slaughtering that pack of walking nightmares.

"N-no…" a ragged voice whispered as Derek turned to walk towards the door. "D-Derek…"

Derek heard the woman behind him gasp but he kept walking. He couldn't believe the werewolf had called out his name, couldn't turn and look or he wouldn't be able to do what he needed to do. He ignored the sound of scuffing along the floor and hurried toward the door. He reached out with his unburned hand to turn the handle but his other wrist was suddenly caught in a desperate grip.

"No!" Stiles yelled, "Stay!"

Derek's mouth fell open in shock. He couldn't pull his hand out of the omega wolf's grip. He gasped when he felt a warm tongue lap at his hand right over the burn wound. It sent shivers down his spine. The woman gasped again, he had no idea what she must be thinking to see her son on his knees licking a man's hand and asking him not to leave. He was going to have to explain. He was going to have to look her in the eyes, tell her things he didn't want to, tell her what he could of what her son had become and how he'd been treated.

"Stiles," Derek said. "Stop, you don't have to do that."

Stiles's licks became softer, more hesitant. It was almost as though he thought he was doing it wrong. Derek's life was insane, there was a werewolf licking at his wound to try to comfort him. A werewolf trying to comfort a hunter, the world really had become a backwards place.

"What's happened to him?" the woman asked.

"It's a long story," Derek didn't know what else to say. He tried gently to pull his arm free of Stiles's grip, away from the warm tongue lapping at his wound.

"No," Stiles whispered into Derek's palm, "I… I'll… t-take care of… you t-too. Don't leave me…"

Derek closed his eyes at the halting words spilling out of the werewolf. It was too much. He should have never been taken from his family. The wolf's voice was raw and broken, it must have been painful to talk after everything he'd gone through and he wanted to make sure Derek knew, with what little words he had, that he didn't want him to leave. Derek could have easily been the kid on the floor. If things happened just a little bit differently maybe he'd have been a werewolf, alone, with nothing until a stranger showed up in his life.

"Okay, Mrs. Stilinksi, I've got a lot to tell you, you're not going to believe all of it," Derek said, "But, before we get into it, I've got to talk to my sister outside."

"Stiles, baby, come with momma, we'll get you some food while Derek goes outside for a few minutes. He's coming back. Aren't you Derek?" The woman said it in a way that left Derek feeling like it wasn't a question.

"Yeah," Derek said, "I'm coming back."

Stiles stopped licking his palm. Derek turned to look at the omega as he stood. There was more in those brown eyes than he'd ever seen before. He wasn't sure how he'd ever thought of them as withered or dying leaves. There was something building in the depths, he wasn't sure what it was but he wanted to see the process of renewal grow and deepen. He wanted to see what those brown eyes would look like when they were lit up with a smile or how they might flutter when laughing.

Stiles turned away after stroking Derek's hand a few more times with delicate brushes of his fingers. He turned and went to the outstretched arms of his mother. She wrapped him up, kissed his forehead and stroked his hair. Derek couldn't hear what she was saying to him anymore.

Derek walked out of the bakery and went to the driver side door of the van. Laura was tapping her hand against the door. She rolled down the window. "You ready to get out of here?" Laura asked.

"Not yet," Derek said. He ignored how exhilarated Laura looked when she heard the tone of his voice. "We're not leaving until we've hunted down every one of the Argent wolves in this town."

"Those wolves were Argent pack members? That's my baby brother!" Laura whooped, "You got a plan already I take it?"

Derek smiled at his sister, he was glad they were getting back onto the same page. "Yeah, hopefully it's good enough being that I'm just the brawn of the operation."

Laura poked him in the stomach and gave him a smile. He grinned back at her; it'd been awhile since he'd seen that smile. It was a shame he was about to take it away. Laura seemed to sense the shift in his mood and grimaced.

"Crap," Laura muttered, "You want me to play good cop with someone to get information don't you?"

Derek smiled, "There's a reporter named Holland Martin, she knows something and we need to find out what it is. There's something going on in this town and I think she's clued into it."

"What are you going to do while I'm weaseling out information from the locals?" Laura asked.

"I'm going to try to explain to a mother what happened to her family, I'm going to rig some defenses up if I can or take them somewhere safe." Derek said, he ignored Laura opening her mouth and continued on before she could interrupt him, "After that's done, I'm going to get some sleep so that I'm fully awake when I start slaughtering Argent wolves."

Laura banged her hand on the steering wheel and let out another cheer. "Now you are speaking my language Derek. Go tuck in your lost puppy, get some sleep, I'll do the investigating. Tonight, we'll check out the woods in the area to see if we can catch ourselves any monsters."

Derek nodded, went around to the back of the van and pulled out one of the duffel bags of supplies. He hoped that one of the Argent wolves would track them to the bakery; he wanted to give some payback. Even more than that though, he wasn't sure he could look into that woman's eyes and try to explain what happened to her son. If one of them showed up, he wouldn't have to, she'd see for herself.


	10. Trap

**Author's Notes: **

**Soooooo, you guys have been amazingly patient with me and for that I'm very thankful. I'm home from vacation, have been for almost a week, and now I'm getting back into the swing of things. Hopefully you'll be seeing some more regular updates from me soon.**

**I forgot to mention in my first note, there's a total shout out to the show Supernatural in this chapter, actually there are a lot of them in this story.**

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><p>Laura was nowhere near as proficient with research as Derek, she excelled in other areas, but it wasn't too difficult to figure out where Holland Martin lived. People were so stupid with social network features. She parked the van down the street from the residence.<p>

It was only 7am; she hoped the reporter hadn't already gone to work. Laura did a double check of her supplies in case she ran into trouble. She had two pistols, both loaded with aconite shells. She applied a wolfsbane oil extract over the skin of her hands and neck. If one of them tried to grab or bite her at least they'd suffer for it. Laura prided herself on having found so many ways to weaponize the plant.

For good measure she bound her long hair up, piling it atop her head and securing it with pins, no reason to provide an extra target for someone to grab onto. She tucked one of the flowers into her hair behind her ear, because blue was her favorite color, and because she liked to broadcast how much she knew.

Derek thought the idea was silly, he asked her if she planned on trying to trick one into going on a date. She laughed at the time but now she was starting to wonder about that comment. He was getting awfully friendly with a creature he'd just met a short time ago.

Laura grabbed the fake detective identification out of her glove compartment. She wasn't dressed to be a cop or agent; private investigator would have to do. She glanced at it to remind herself of the name it had been created using.

She got out and went around the back of the van to grab a couple of the aerosol pollen bombs from her duffel. They were her crowning achievement. She'd not gotten to use one in combat yet but she'd planted a trap at the hotel. She tucked them into her jacket, made sure all of her clothing was tight and nothing made an easy handhold.

Laura did _not_ like to take risks. Werewolves were dangerous if they got close; she specialized in keeping them away. She regretted that she'd not found a way to create a mobile mountain ash barrier. She had an idea to use hollow sections threaded through with rope to create a perimeter she could stand within but she wasn't sure it would work. She doubted Derek would let her test her theory on his new pet.

She walked quickly up the street, went up the driveway to the house and rang the doorbell. A few moments later a pretty young woman opened the door. The girl looked like a librarian, the kind of librarian men had fantasies about. She had strawberry blonde hair in a tight braid coiled against the back of her head and thin framed glasses. She wasn't wearing any makeup that Laura could see. She was dressed in a simple charcoal dress with a short black jacket.

"May I help you?" the girl inquired.

Laura smiled; the young woman was utterly polite. "Good morning, is your mother home? I've got a couple of questions I'd like to ask her." She pulled her identification out and flashed it towards the teenager in the doorway. "I'm an investigator, my name is Janis Franklin."

The girl didn't even look at it; her eyes darted for a moment to the blue flower in Laura's hair and then locked back onto her eyes. "My mother's not here," the girl said, "You don't look like an investigator."

Laura smiled, "Have you met many investigators?"

"My mother is a reporter. Yes, I've met many investigators." The girl's tone was completely polite but her eyes were calculating and bold. Laura liked her already.

"Do the boys at your school like the whole sexy librarian thing?" Laura asked. She hoped to throw the girl off balance.

"I don't know but it drives my girlfriend wild." A mischievous smile played across the girl's face for half a moment. "Have you seen Jurassic Park?"

The combination of statements left Laura a little off balance. That wasn't how it was supposed to work. She wasn't sure what the question had to do with anything. She shook her head to see where the little librarian was going with it.

"The scariest part of that movie to me is when the hunter realizes that the other velociraptors were a distraction, just a ruse for the older female one to catch the hunter in a _trap._" The girl's eyes flicked past Laura for a moment, swept from side to side. "It was terrifying that the hunter, someone who'd been trained to deal with them, wasn't sure how many there were and where they were." The girl looked Laura dead in the eyes, her outer shell cracked for a moment. Laura could see real fear down in the depths.

"I don't remember that part, I just remember that the people outsmarted the dinosaurs," Laura said. She was shaken by the hidden meaning of the girl's words. How did she know so much? Was she really implying that Laura was in danger?

"They didn't outsmart the dinosaurs, Janis, they fled. I have to get ready for school. My mother's a very busy woman and unless you have something… official, she probably wouldn't speak with you anyway." The girl closed the door in Laura's face.

A chill ran down Laura's spine. She calmly walked back to the van. Was the girl's banter a warning? She wondered how much the young woman knew about what was going on in the town. The hunter didn't know how many dinosaurs there were? Was that they key?

She started the van and began to drive. Laura checked all the mirrors and it wasn't long before she realized she was being followed by a white Prius. She laughed to herself; at least her stalkers were going green. The great thing about most werewolves was that they relied so much on their natural abilities, their overconfidence left them vulnerable. She wondered if the people in the car were wolves or minions.

Laura couldn't take any chances; she didn't want to hurt any regular people. She also didn't want to jump to the wrong conclusions because of mini-librarian's warning. She took a winding path away from the house. It wasn't long before a pickup truck and a Ford Focus started following her as well.

That was one of the things that sucked about werewolves, they traveled in packs. If she was lucky there would only be three, one in each car. She pulled out her cell phone and resent a saved text message. A minute later she read Derek's reply. She clicked on the address in the message. She smiled as the female artificial voice issued from the speakers telling her to take a right in half a mile.

Realistically, based on the vehicles pursing her, there were at least three werewolves. That was very likely to be a huge chunk of the pack. If there were more than that in the three vehicles they might end this conflict before it even started. She sang to herself, "C'mon baby, let the good times roll. C'mon baby, let me thrill your soul." She loved Janis Joplin, she loved hunting werewolves with her brother, the day was starting to look up.


	11. Numbers

**Author's Note:**

**Warning: Really graphic violence, a crazy Laura, and someone you probably didn't expect to be a bad guy all rolled into one. The fun is just beginning.**

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><p>Laura was glad she was wearing her seatbelt when a black sedan crossed over into the wrong lane and hit her van head on. For one sickening moment the only thing she could hear was shattering glass and bending metal. Pain exploded through her body as she slammed into the airbag.<p>

That was another thing about werewolves; they could take a lot more risks than humans could with their bodies. She knew the other vehicles were stopping even though she couldn't hear anything through the ringing in her ears. She wasn't going to make it to the meeting point. She was going to have to face all the wolves herself. She dropped her phone onto the floor of the van.

Laura disengaged the seatbelt and crawled over the seat to the passenger side door. Likely her assailants were planning on yanking her from the driver's side. She wasn't going to make it that easy. She pulled out her two pistols, spit blood onto the floor of the van and kicked the door open.

A roar filled her ears over the ringing in her head. She turned and unloaded three shots from each pistol into the creature's chest as it came around the vehicle at her. The Glock 22s she had each had fifteen rounds. Six shots down, twenty four before she'd have to reload. She barely had time to enjoy the stupid beast's look of pain before it collapsed.

"Come on!" she yelled. "I've got a lot more ammo than I have time."

The crunch of metal on top of the van was enough warning for her to roll forward towards the shoulder of the road. Howls filled the air; she counted them off even as she came up and unloaded one shot from each pistol into the female wolf that was on top of the van. It went down in a spray of blood almost as vibrant as the satisfaction she felt knowing that the aconite shells would end the monster even if she hadn't hit a vital organ. Twenty two shots left and the howls made it seem like there were four more wolves.

Six, six werewolves all for her, Derek was going to be so jealous. She took off and headed into the forest that lined the highway. She'd been on her way out of town when the sedan crashed into her. She leapt down into a small creek and started running again. Not enough water to clear her scent but more than enough to warn her more animals were coming right behind.

She holstered one of her pistols and grabbed one of her aerosol bombs. She wouldn't use it unless she could hit at least two. It would be fun to watch one gasp and choke but she liked to get her money's worth.

Laura risked a glance over her shoulder; a chill ran down her spine when she saw three werewolves close behind. Did that mean there was one circling? Perhaps there were more and the howling was meant to mask their numbers instead of announce them. Wouldn't it be just her luck to encounter the whole damn pack?

She darted up over the edge of the creek. If they were herding her towards something she wasn't going to make it easy for them. She spun in place and tossed the smoke bomb. It detonated right in the middle of the three wolves, white gas billowing out.

She drew her second Glock again, turned in place ready to unleash more pain. She wasn't going to run anymore. Not until she killed the three that she could hear choking in the smoke. Whines of pain filled her ears and it was almost enough to drown out the nightmares she had of her cousins screaming as they were burned alive.

One werewolf stumbled forward out of the smoke, its skin a ruinous patchwork of blisters. It rushed forward, blind and weeping tears of blood. She regretted having to drop to twenty one rounds of ammunition. The bullet went right through the thing's forehead. It should have suffered more. It got off easy.

Laura's instinct told her to roll to the side and it was the only thing that saved her as a dark shape rushed from the underbrush nearby trying to hamstring her. She came up and fired one round from each gun into the wolf's back. Nineteen shots left before she'd have to reload. Four wolves down. If the one had not tried to hamstring her she might be dead. That meant they were trying to take her alive. That gave her an advantage.

A second wolf crawled out of the smoke, it whined pathetically. A bullet ended its cry. Eighteen shots left and five wolves down. It was just too easy. She hadn't seen or heard the pack's Alpha yet though. Was it because the Alpha wasn't there or because it was biding its time? The smoke from her bomb cleared. The third wolf that had been on the inside of the cloud never made it out. It had died choking, lungs full of poisonous fumes. She grinned. That was the most satisfying kill she'd ever gotten. If she could choke the life out of every single one of the wolves who purged her family with smoke and flame she'd almost be even.

Howls filled the air. So many that Laura's confidence faltered for a moment. How could there be so many? How many wolves were in the Argent's pack? It was ridiculous. She laughed to herself hoping that it was the thrill of the combat and not the sickening onset of panic.

Twelve shots had been fired and one smoke bomb used. That bought her the lives of six werewolves. She had eighteen left and one more bomb. She couldn't wait to see if there was a discount today on murderous monsters.

Creatures moved in the shadows where the trees were thickest. Games, she hated it when they played their little games. They thought they could confuse her, make her feel fear. She laughed and this time there was no hysteria, it was all glee. They wanted to take her alive? Fine, she'd take down as many of them as she could to make it easier for Derek to finish the damn things off. She'd soak the whole forest in their blood.

Two wolves came out of the trees trying to confuse her. Petty tactics by creatures that thought she wasn't used to being outnumbered and hunted by pack animals. She feinted her right pistol towards the faster moving one, the slower on the left fell for it, ate it up like the dumb beast it was. Two rounds dropped it to the ground, sixteen shots left and seven wolves down. No one had told her it was Christmas.

The faster moving wolf leapt towards her, hand stretching for her throat. She stepped sideways and brought her pistol down on its ear. The cracking sound was wonderful. If they had been trying to kill her they wouldn't be taking so many stupid risks. She wondered what they were trying to gain. She crushed the wolf's windpipe with her heel when it tumbled onto its back.

The creature let out a hideous gurgling noise, rolled over onto its stomach and tried to crawl away. She holstered her left pistol and drew a knife out of her boot. She dropped her knee onto its back. Laura holstered her right pistol and gripped the thing's shaggy hair in her hands.

"Smile little puppy," she whispered, her voice full of venom. "It's just a game right?"

It tried to whine in protest but she slit its throat without a shred of guilt. It deserved so much worse. All of them did. She stood up and waited for more. Sixteen shells just begging to spill their poison into werewolf bodies, she sheathed her knife and drew both pistols again.

Eight wolves down, the Alpha had to be the only one left. The part of her mind that should have been wondering when she'd be married and having children mourned for the loss of so many lives. She ignored it, that part of who she was had died in the house with her family. The protests were just echoes of its dying gasps.

The sound of someone clapping drew her attention. Laura was sickened that one of the creatures was getting some sort of amusement in its comrades' deaths. She couldn't wait to fill it full of poison too.

"I have to admit," a voice called out. "I didn't think you'd take out so many of us, even if those were just trash."

Laura spit in disgust. The voice belonged to a young male. What a sick and twisted world it was for there to be such a creature.

"Why don't you come out and say that to my face?" she called back.

"While you still have sixteen shots left? That'd be rather stupid wouldn't it?"

Laura couldn't see the speaker but started circling to try to get a clear shot. The thing knew how many bullets she had left. That meant that it was smart. It also meant that it had waited and watched as its allies died. She sometimes thought of hunting as a game but that was just not right.

"What's your name?" she called out.

"Tell me yours and I'll tell you mine," the voice responded. It came from a different location. It was moving too. Laura hated it when they were smart.

"Laura," she said. It didn't matter if it knew what her name was. It was going to be dead soon.

She kept moving trying to avoid stepping on anything that would give her exact location away. She gasped in shock when strong hands wrapped around her neck from behind. Laura sucked air into her lungs desperately when the creature's hands pulled back as if burned. She was glad she'd put the oil on her neck, it saved her life. She spun and leveled the pistols at the creature's chest. Adrenaline flooded her at having one of them so close; she unloaded six shots into it before stumbling away.

"Only ten shots left now, Laura." The voice was further away.

"You said you were going to tell me what your name was." Laura was stalling for time. If she was lucky Derek might be on his way, might have come across the wreck on his way to the location. She had left her phone in the van; he'd be able to track her location with it. He was good at all that computer crap. She was getting tired. She needed backup.

"I know that you're stalling," the voice called out. "The funny thing is I'm stalling too. The only difference is that I already took care of any backup that might be coming for you. You should have kept the phone on you if you wanted someone to track it."

Laura ground her teeth. She wasn't expecting there to be a wolf that smart. Perhaps he was the Alpha.

"Your backup isn't coming but the Argents should be here soon. The Alpha really wants to meet you. We're going to turn you Laura. We're going to turn you and keep you locked up. When the full moon comes we're going to feed your partner to you." The voice was getting further away.

Rage overcame Laura. She unloaded five shots into the surrounding forest hoping to get lucky. No scream of pain followed the staccato of the gunshots, only laughter.

"Five to go, when they're all gone I'm going to come out and play with you. You'll be whispering my name begging me for mercy when I'm done."

Laura hated the monster. "Why don't you come out now? I'll throw the guns down and you can take a swipe at me with your claws. Are you scared of a woman?"

Laughter filled the forest. "Of course I am. You've not met Victoria or Allison. Anyone who met either of them would be afraid of women."

Laura holstered her pistols. She raised her arms up in challenge. "Come on then you little coward. Come and play with me."

There was a blur of movement; before she could draw one of her guns she heard the loud crack of a discharging bullet. Pain blossomed in her leg; she went down hard on her hands and knees. The wolf had shot her. She'd never seen one of them use a gun before.

A young man with dark skin and short black hair came out from behind a tree. He holstered his own pistol as he walked towards her. "The thing I find the most infuriating about humans, Laura, is that they think they're the only ones who know how to use tools."

Laura waited until he was within a few feet of her. "So what's your name kid?"

"It's Danny, not that it matters anymore," he said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out her phone. The back panel had been torn open and she could see he'd gutted the electronics in it. "No one is coming to help you."

Laura grinned. While he was looking in his pocket she'd grabbed the trigger on the last bomb she had. "That's ok, seeing that stupid grin wiped off your face was worth getting shot."

"What?" he said, eyes widening in fear. Laura didn't have a chance to enjoy it for very long though. She detonated the bomb. It wasn't dangerous to her but it stung like a bitch discharging against her body.


	12. Song

**Author's Note:**

**The reference in the story below, it's from Dumbo, just in case you were curious. This was really tough for me to write, that's why it took so long to come out. Hopefully I'll have some more for you early next week.**

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><p>Stiles had watched his mother silently. She had listened as Derek explained what had happened as best he knew. Stiles hadn't been interested in filling in the details Derek hadn't figured out on his own. His mother had been calm, a steady wall as wave after wave of revelations crashed against her. She was so strong. She only reacted once, when Derek had started talking about what he thought Stiles had been through, she'd reached out and taken hold of his hand.<p>

Derek had been gone for about an hour. He'd promised Stiles that he'd return after he met up with his sister. Stiles knew that something was wrong though. Derek had smelled afraid when he read the message she'd sent him on the phone.

"I want to make you something to eat," his mother said, cutting through his thoughts.

The omega didn't look away from her, hadn't been able to look away since Derek had left. His stomach rumbled loudly. She laughed, stood up and ruffled his short hair. He followed her as she walked around behind the counter. She clucked her tongue but didn't tell him to sit down. He didn't want to be away from her, didn't want to let her out of his sight. When he woke up, he wanted to keep all the memories of this dream.

She pulled out a variety of ingredients from the cooler. She'd said that the bakery was partially a café now. He sniffed at the food, she handed him a slice of turkey. He ate it so fast he wasn't even sure what it tasted like. His mother reached out, brushed a hand across his cheek. He turned his face into the touch, still awed by how good she smelled. She handed him a few more pieces of turkey. He ate them with just as much excitement as the first.

"I see your appetite is as big as ever." She laughed, patted his shoulder.

Stiles watched, enthralled as she crafted him an enormous sandwich. He didn't even know if he'd be able to put it in his mouth. He couldn't wait to try. There was bread, tomatoes, mustard, pickles, things he'd not eaten in years. He was practically drooling.

His mother began to hum, the tune of a song from his childhood, the song that had kept him alive. Tears began to stream down his face. His mother turned to look at him when he began to sniffle.

"_Baby mine, don't you cry. Baby mine, dry your eyes,"_ she sang. She drew him in, pulled his head to her chest. _"Rest your head close to my heart, never to part, baby of mine."_

Memories flooded through him, a baby elephant trying desperately to get to his mother. Unable to reach her son the mother elephant had stuck her trunk through the bars of the window, brushed her baby's head with it. It had been one of his favorite cartoons, a lifetime ago. Soft hands stroked his hair.

"_Little one when you play, don't mind what you say. Let those eyes sparkle and shine. Never a tear, baby of mine." _His mother's singing was beautiful. She clung to him desperately, crushing him against her body. He didn't care about the sandwich anymore; he just wanted to stay in her arms.

"_If they knew sweet little you, they'd end up loving you too, all those people who scold you. What they'd give just for the chance to hold you." _She paused, took a shaky breath. Tears slipped down her face.

"I l-love you," Stiles whispered, turned his head to hide his crying in the front of her apron. "I m-m-missed you…" He wrapped his arms tightly around her waist. His throat hurt, he still wasn't used to talking, wasn't sure he ever would be again.

She stroked his hair, rocked them gently back and forth. _"From your head to your toes, you're not much goodness knows, but you're so precious to me, cute as can be, baby of mine."_

The singing ended, but the memories were still there, still pushing aside all the bad things that happened to him. His mother started crying, full throated, raw, body shaking with the force of it. Stiles pulled back, tried to sooth her. He ran his hands over her hair. She buried her face against his shoulder.

"I thought I'd never see you again," she whispered, "I knew you weren't dead." Her fingers curled into the back of his shirt. "A mother always knows, knows when her baby is in danger. I didn't know what to do."

He kissed the side of her head, breathed in the lavender scent of her hair. He needed her to understand, needed her to know what was in his heart. He didn't have the words, didn't know how to make her see.

"Y-you kept me a-a-alive." Stiles tried to swallow, his throat constricted. "I-I just…" He squeezed his eyes closed. "N-n-need you…"

It wasn't enough, there was so much, so much she didn't know, didn't know what he'd been through. He never wanted her to know. He just wanted her to love him, to tell him it would be alright. He wanted her to make him sandwiches, and yell at him if he did something wrong. He wanted to watch cartoons with her, eat cookies she baked. He wanted her to sing to him some more, to pat him on the head. He wanted all the years back that had been stolen from him; he wanted another chance at growing up.

His mother pulled away, gripped the sides of his face so he would look into her eyes. He opened them, heart racing for a moment, terrified to see something other than her warm brown eyes looking at him.

"I'm never going to let you go, honey. Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere."

He blinked away tears. She laughed, wiped his face with a napkin from the counter then did the same for herself. He smiled at her, her whole face lit up. Happiness rolled off her in waves, flooded his senses. He grinned, it made everything better. She made everything better.

Her hand slipped from his face, wrapped around the back of his head, slipped down over the scars on the back of his neck. His body vibrated for a moment, his grin slipped away. The scars on his neck, he couldn't think, couldn't breathe. Horror picked at the edges of his consciousness, tried to snake its way around his mind, crush it with looping coils of fear.

"Stiles? Stiles, honey, what's wrong?"

The scent of panic, of sudden fear flooded the bakery, tore away the smells of turkey, bread, and fresh vegetables. His mother's fear, the scent drove him wild, whipped at his mind. She was afraid. His mother was afraid.

He wasn't in the bakery anymore, he was in the deepest parts of his mind, the most terrible memories he couldn't shake away. It was worse now though, she was there with him, suffering with him. He remembered Allison pushing the hot coal into his mouth, only this time it wasn't him. Allison was doing it to his mother, he couldn't do anything. He was chained to the ground like a dog, unable to get close enough, choking himself trying to reach them.

He felt it roll over him, the wolf transformation. The fingers pulled away from his scars, the feral part of his mind wanted to flee, wanted to run away, didn't want to see the fear in his mother's eyes. The moment had come, it had been an accident, but he was going to lose her. She was going to see that he was a monster. He pulled away, dropped down to all fours. He was going to flee; he needed to get away from her.

"STILES STILINSKI!"

The yell froze him in place. He almost tripped over his own hands and feet. He dipped his head, turned back and looked at his mother's shoes.

"I don't know what you think you're doing, but you're not going outside until you eat!"

The words, they were so inappropriate to the situation, didn't fit what was going on. He dropped from the crouch he was in to sit cross-legged on the floor, stunned by the command. He watched as her feet got closer. She dropped down onto the floor in front of him, arranging her dress and apron as she leaned against the counter. She placed a paper towel over his leg, set the sandwich down on it.

"I'm sorry," she said, "It was just the first thing that came to mind."

He looked up at her, she wasn't afraid, wasn't terrified of the wolf in him. She reached out, brushed one of her hands over the point of his ear. He glanced down at his hands, at the wicked claws sprouting from his fingers. She let go of his ear, held his hand. There was still no smell of fear.

"You can't scare me away. I love you, all of you," she said.

He glanced up at her, his golden eyes watching her brown ones. She let go of his hand, flicked him in the nose. He was startled for a moment. Then he did something he hadn't expected to do. He laughed. He laughed loudly. He laughed so hard his belly started to ache, for the first time in a long time it was aching because of something other than hunger or pain.

It took a few moments but soon his mother was laughing with him. He didn't realize that he'd changed back until his mother pushed a small bottle of chocolate milk into his hand. He looked at the bottle, looked at where his claws had been.

Stiles glanced at his mother; she had a small smile on her face. She winked at him. Suddenly, it didn't matter that he was a monster, didn't matter that he'd been tortured. All that mattered was that she still loved him, still wanted to take care of him. It was enough for him that she loved him despite all the bad things that came with him.

"I love you too, mom." He watched her, she watched him back. It was perfect.

"You still have to eat before you can go outside," she said.

He started laughing again.


	13. Visitor

**Author's Note:**

**This is a little graphic at times, a little sad at times, and I think at least a little kick ass at times. Hope you enjoy. This is a first draft, I think there might be some errors, let me know if you see any. I'll get them cleaned up tomorrow.**

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><p>Stiles wrung his hands together. His mother was making notations on a piece of paper. He wanted to touch her more, wanted her to touch him more. He still couldn't believe he wasn't dreaming, wasn't dead.<p>

"Stay here and rest. I'm going to put some things in order to close the bakery for a few days while we get this all figured out. Okay?" Stiles's mother gathered up the notebook she'd been writing on. She ruffled his short hair with a gentle touch.

Stiles nodded. He didn't want to stay, but he would do as he was told. He tried to always do what he was told. He could be good. The omega wolf watched his mother head through a door at the back. He missed her already.

He glanced down at the empty plate in front of him, used his fingers to gather up the crumbs from the three sandwiches she'd made him. Stiles sighed happily, licked his fingers clean. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so full, so warm.

He closed his eyes; let the scents of the bakery sink into him. So much sugar in the air, so much love, there wasn't any other place like it. There was no blood, no gasoline. Everything was clean and fresh. He leaned forward, rested his chin on the table. The glass of water was so clear. There was no mud, no dirt; he wanted to splash it on his face. He wondered if he'd be able to take a bath later.

The door at the front of the building rattled. He tilted his head at the sound. He thought it might have been Derek. He scrambled to his feet, nearly knocked the chair over in his rush to get to the door. He couldn't see through the curtains that covered the door, was too excited to get Derek's scent back in the room. Derek and sugar together, there had never been anything so sweet.

He unhooked the chain, unlocked the deadbolt. The door opened easily, but the smile on his lips died when he saw who stood on the other side of the door. Allison grinned at him, clapped her hands in delight. Stiles took a step back, shook his head. It wasn't possible, she couldn't be there. The scents of the bakery had masked her approach, he hadn't been paying attention.

"Chocolate!" She squealed with delight as she stepped into the building. "I knew I'd find you here. Did you miss me, boy?"

Stiles opened his mouth; he wanted to scream for help, for Derek. Nothing came out. Just seeing her again had stolen all the words he'd fought so hard to get back. He was being punished. She'd just let him go, gave him the illusion of freedom just so she could see him when he realized it had all been a dream.

Tears started to stream down his face, he sucked in a ragged breath. Allison stepped forward, seized him roughly by the ears. She pulled his head forward, ran her tongue along his cheeks. She always told him she loved the taste of his tears. He started to sink down to his knees. She didn't let him go easily, held him up until he felt like his ears were going to be ripped off. Her eyes lit up with amber light, she'd always loved it when he was on his knees.

"Good," Allison whispered, "I see you still remember your place." She reached around behind his head. Human fingernails brushed against the scars at the back of his neck.

The omega's head slammed into the tile floor of the bakery. He didn't even wince, she hadn't pushed him. He'd done it on instinct so she wouldn't have to. She laughed. It was an ugly sound that tore open his guts, made it feel like his insides were boiling under the hideous fire from Laura's gun.

Sharp nails sprouted against his neck, spiked through the skin. She'd partially shifted, familiar pain lanced through him. Familiar images seared his mind; she loved her trips down memory lane. Stiles opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

He saw her memories, they wrapped around his mind like a hideous spider's web. It started with the coal. That was one of her fondest. He could smell the burning flesh of his mouth, felt the exaltation she felt at watching the skin blister. He closed his eyes, but the images didn't stop.

Rusty spikes were driven into his palms, pinned him to the wooden floor. She must have been feeling sentimental. That's how she'd restrained him when she'd used him for her pleasure for the first time. She'd climbed on top of him, ridden him as he writhed in pain. She'd opened gouges in his chest with her nails, lapped at the blood as she sought her pleasure through his pain.

He heard her gasp, both with his ears and his mind. He knew what she must look like, lost in the sensation, head back as though she were howling out her pleasure. She would be lost in the memories too. If only Derek were there, he would have protected him. Allison would have been vulnerable, lost in the sensation.

The omega took a deep breath, already the brief moment of being Stiles was fading away. The soft scent of lavender and vanilla filled his lungs. He wanted to smile; he didn't know how long he'd be able to remember his mother's smell. Surely Allison's memories would wash them away.

"Get your claws out of my son, bitch!"

Stiles had never heard his mother swear before. He wondered why he would hallucinate her saying that. Normally he just thought of the song. Pain faded from his body abruptly, claws withdrew from his skin and took the memories of horror with them.

He sucked in a ragged breath. Lavender and vanilla was so close. The omega wolf risked Allison's wrath by turning his head slightly. His mother's shoes were right next to him. He sat up. His mother was holding a shotgun. She was aiming it at Allison's head.

"What did you call me?" Allison's voice was like acid burning his ears. Her face was full of rage. The female beta flexed her claws. "I'm going to chop you up, feed you to your son. I can't wait to hear what sounds you'll make for me."

Stiles's mother didn't waver. She simply pumped the shotgun, pushed it closer towards Allison's face. "Tell me," Stiles's mother said. "How will you do that with no head?"

Allison laughed, it was just as high pitched and ugly as it always was. "That gun can't kill me. I'll tear your arms off before you can pull the trigger you pathetic human."

Fury boiled through Stiles's mind. Allison was threatening his mother. His vision went red. He saw the moment Allison's claws twitched. Stiles leapt to his feet, put his body between his mother and her assailant.

Claws dug into his stomach. Pain lanced through him. It was irrelevant. Pain like that he'd gotten used to when he was still a child. He reached out, got his fingers around Allison's throat. Her yellow eyes went wide, the light slowly faded as he began to crush her windpipe. He leaned forward, roared into her face. Allison had threatened his mother. He was going to rip her throat out with his teeth.

"C-chocolate," Allison choked out. She reached out with her other hand, sank her claws into his wrist.

It was nothing, she'd wound barbed wire around that arm when he was ten. She'd lead him around by it, even when he couldn't walk anymore. She had just yanked; the metal had gotten stuck in the bone. His skin had healed over it. She'd torn it off the next day.

"Stiles, baby?" His mother's voice was distant; he could barely hear it through the blood pounding in his ears. "Don't do this. Let me take care of it."

Allison dug her claws in deeper. He laughed in the girl's face. Allison's eyes bulged out, he didn't know if it was shock that he could make the noise or because he was strangling her. He didn't care. The pain didn't matter; it was pathetic next to the lifetime of torment she'd given him.

"Stiles Stilinski!" His mother screamed. "Let her go now! You are not a monster like her!"

The omega wolf blinked. He released his hold. He glanced back at his mother, head tilted low in submission. He didn't want to make her angry. He wanted to be a good boy for her.

"I'll kill you both!" Allison gasped. "That shotgun can't kill me. I'll decorate my dollhouses with your eyes!"

The door opened again. Stiles was afraid to look, afraid to see the Alpha. He kept his head down even as he put his body between the door and his mother. Stiles brought his arms up to shield his face, waited for the pain. He held his breath, afraid to catch the scent of Allison's mother.

"That gun won't kill you, but this one will."

Stiles glanced up, it was Derek. Derek had come back. Stiles took a deep breath, sucked in his scent. It was wonderful, made him light headed.

"Give me your phone," Derek said.

"Why should I?" Allison asked.

Derek pointed the gun at her knee, pulled the trigger without his expression changing even in the slightest. Stiles didn't even hear his heartbeat waver. His mother gasped, took a step back. She got a hold on the back of his shirt, tried to pull him away as Allison collapsed on the floor with a cry of pain.

"I'm going to call your father. If my sister is alive, we're going to make a trade tomorrow night," Derek said.

Allison looked up at him, venom in her eyes. "If the bitch is dead?"

Derek knelt down, grabbed Allison's hair. He wrenched her head back; her mouth fell open in shock. He placed the barrel of the gun in her mouth, cocked the hammer. "If she's dead, then I'm going to see if I can make you scream as many times as Stiles did before the poison in these bullets makes its way to your heart." He pressed the gun further into her mouth; she made a gagging noise around the barrel. "If you don't, then I'll clear the poison from your system. Then we'll start all over to see how far we get."

Allison's eyes got wider. Stiles had never seen that look on Allison's face. Not even when he was crushing her windpipe. She was terrified of Derek, of what he promised to do to her. She must have known. Allison must have heard it too. Derek's heartbeat hadn't wavered. He'd meant every word he said. Allison slowly reached into her pocket, pulled out her phone and gave it to Derek.

"Mrs. Stilinski?" Derek didn't take his eyes off Allison as he addressed Stiles's mother. "I need you to go out to my car, get the duffle bag in the back. I've got some restraints."

"Are you going to kill her?" Stiles's mother asked.

"Yes. It might not be tomorrow though. I have to get my sister back. Once that's done, I'm not going to stop until all of them are dead. They killed my family." Derek leaned in closer to Allison. He pulled the gun out of her mouth, tucked the barrel under her chin.

"Are you one of the ones that hurt my son?" Stiles's mother stepped out from behind the omega, walked right up to Allison. "Are you one of the ones that killed my husband?"

Allison grinned. "I didn't kill your husband, I was too little then. Chocolate though, he's my masterpiece. I trained him perfectly. My mother gave him to me after he turned. He's my playmate, my property."

Stiles's mother leaned in closer to Allison too, looked her right in the eyes. "You had better hope that this man kills you before I get my hands on you. My husband taught me how to use this." She patted the shotgun. "He was so surprised that I was such a quick learner."

Stiles's mouth fell open. He couldn't believe what was happening. Derek and his mother had captured Allison. She was never going to be able to hurt him again. They'd done what they said they were going to do. They'd kept their promise.

Derek flipped open the phone, scrolled through the contact list and dialed a number. "Chris Argent?" Derek asked. "I want to make a trade, tomorrow night, my sister for your daughter. I'll send you the details later. Laura had better be perfectly healthy. If she is, you'll get your daughter back in one piece." Derek hung up the phone without waiting for a response.

Stiles covered his ears, in the far distance, beyond the range of human hearing a horrifying sound broke through the air, the Alpha's cry of rage.

"W-we h-have to g-go," Stiles stammered. "She's going t-to come. The A-Alpha is going to c-come."

Derek nodded at Stiles. "Mrs. Stilinski, I still need you to get my bag."

Stiles's mother nodded at Derek, calmly walked out the front door. Stiles shook his head. They weren't afraid. They should have been, but they weren't. No fear smell came from the humans. He could smell it on Allison, could smell it on himself.

Derek reached out with the hand that wasn't holding the gun to Allison's chin, patted Stiles on the head. "Don't worry, Stiles. We're going to keep you safe."

Allison opened her mouth, seemingly unable to keep herself from making a threat. Derek didn't wait to hear what she was going to say, just slammed his pistol hard enough into her temple that she collapsed to the ground.

Stiles watched in shock as his mother came back into the building with the duffle bag. Both of their heartbeats were so steady. He wondered if everything was going to work out after all.


	14. Solidarity

Derek was barely keeping it together. Laura was gone. He was alone. It was as if coming to Beacon Hills had made his nightmares come true. He had to stay strong, had to keep his game face on for just a little bit longer. He'd called in reinforcements, hunters in the area that he'd known since he was a child. Friends of Laura and his, people who had sheltered them. Once he got to them he could rest. Stiles and his mom would be safe. The girl, Allison Argent, she'd be under guard.

He'd gotten a message earlier saying the hunters had met up with a local resistance group. There were people in Beacon Hills who knew the truth. He wished he'd called for help sooner, but that's not the way he and Laura did things. They were a team. They only had each other, everyone else were just allies. Now Derek was alone.

He leaned his head against the door, watched the tops of buildings streak by as they made their way out of town. Mrs. Stilinski was driving. Stiles was in the passenger seat. Derek was in the back of the van with Allison. She'd been bound, gagged, and had a hood pulled over her head. Derek hoped it was enough. He was too tired to fight anymore. He just needed to hold on a little longer. Derek's head fell forward. Just a little longer.

A tentative touch brushed along the back of his head. Derek glanced up. Brown eyes looked at him from above the passenger seat. Stiles was perched on his knees, clearly not wearing his seat belt. The boy reached out, arm shaking slightly. Derek gripped the young werewolf's hand. Stiles rose up on the seat further, a shy smile on his lips as he looked down at Derek sitting on the floor of the van.

Stiles's grip was firm. Derek hadn't expected that. Once they were touching all the trembling in Stiles's body seemed to fade away. It was simple, such a small gesture. Stiles was reaching out to him, trying to make a connection. Derek wasn't sure what it meant, but he was glad Stiles was making progress. Being reunited with his mother had changed him. That's what having a family did. It made people stronger. Derek was glad. He wanted to get his sister back.

"I-I-I'm going to help you," Stiles said. "W-we'll get her back." The werewolf tightened his grip on Derek's hand as he spoke. It was like he was trying to show Derek that even if his words were hesitant his intentions weren't.

It was amazing. Stiles was willing to face head on the people who had made his life a living hell. For some reason he was willing to put himself back in a position where he could be taken again. He'd risk giving up his freedom just to help Derek.

"No. You're going to stay somewhere safe." Derek wasn't going to let anything else happen to the young werewolf. He'd faced enough, seen too much already. Derek wasn't going to risk it.

"We're both going to help you," Stiles's mother said. "You helped bring our family back together. We're not letting you trade yours away. That's not a price we're willing to pay."

Derek looked at the woman driving. He couldn't see her very well from the floor of the van, but there was something in the set of her jaw, the way she held her head with pride that told him it was no use arguing with her. Stiles squeezed his hand. Derek smiled.

He'd given Stiles's mom directions to the safe house. Deaton had told him it'd been set up a few years ago and that no one used it very often. The Argents had caught the attention of other hunters. Deaton had been investigating it, had called in another family of hunters. Derek couldn't remember what their name was. Was it McConnor? He'd meet them soon enough. They had someone on the inside, someone who knew how the Argents did things. Derek didn't have time for a full briefing. He was too tired to think about it.

"Thanks," Derek said. It wasn't enough, but it was all he had in him. He let his head fall back against the door. He didn't let go of Stiles's hand though. For some reason the werewolf's tight grip was reassuring.

It was sort of funny, that he was drawing a bit of strength from a creature like the ones he'd spent his whole life hating. He glanced up at Stiles. The teenager's brown eyes were still focused on him. Derek wasn't sure what it meant, the look that was on Stiles's face. It made him feel good though, made him feel a little less alone.

They just sat there watching each other. Stiles's lips still turned up in a small smile. It was a good look on him. Derek hadn't been sure he'd ever see that type of expression on the werewolf's face. It suited him.

Stiles nodded at him. Derek didn't know what it meant; maybe it was an acknowledgement of the thanks he'd offered. Maybe it was just supposed to be reassurance that they would get his sister back. Maybe it was all of those things. What mattered was that it was being offered. That it made Derek feel a little bit warmer inside.

"We're almost there," Mrs. Stilinski said. "Just a few more minutes."

"Good." Derek was ready to meet up with the rest of the hunters. He was ready to start making a plan. He was done feeling sorry for himself. He didn't have time to be weak. He needed to be strong. For Laura, for Stiles and his mother, Derek had to be strong for everyone. Once he had Laura back, then he could share the burden again.

Stiles's hand tightened around Derek's. They hadn't broken eye contact. Derek watched as hesitancy dropped away from Stiles's features, watched as it was replaced by determination. Derek was in awe of it, the core of iron will that had kept the werewolf alive and sane despite everything that had happened to him. Stiles was stronger than he'd thought, was probably stronger than anyone thought.

"It'll b-b-be okay," Stiles said. "We'll get her b-back." His eyes trailed away from Derek's face. They focused on the girl tied up in the back. The soft brown of his eyes melted away under a furious golden light. "They're not going to hurt anyone ever again."

Stiles's voice was strong. Derek's mouth fell open. The amber fire in Stiles's eyes was powerful and radiant. Chains rattled, Derek turned to look at the female werewolf. He'd thought she was trying to escape, but he'd been wrong. She was shaking. There was no way she'd been able to see the promise that had been in Stiles's eyes, but she'd heard it in his voice. She was starting to realize that she hadn't raised the perfect toy. She'd forged something else, something that she knew she needed to be afraid of.

Derek smiled, squeezed Stiles's hand. They were going to get Laura back. They were going to do it together. The Argents were going to pay for what they'd done. He looked back at Stiles. The golden light in the boy's eyes hadn't dimmed; it seemed to be growing stronger. The Argents had no idea what was coming for them, what they'd unleashed.

"We're here," Stiles's mom said.

Derek got his feet under him, gave Stiles's hand one last squeeze before letting it go. They had a job to do. They were going to do it right. He pulled open the side door of the van. The building they'd parked in front of was some sort of veterinarian's office.

A young man opened the door of the building. He was holding an assault rifle like he knew how to use it, like he'd played with real guns instead of toy soldiers while growing up. "Derek Hale?"

"That's me," Derek called out.

The guy walked out from the building to meet them, rifle still at the ready. Derek was surprised at how young he was. He had to be roughly the same age as Stiles.

"I'm Scott. Scott McCall." He pointed his rifle at the bound and struggling girl in the back of the van. "My dad said you've got a prisoner. Nice work."

"Aren't you a little young to be a hunter?" Derek asked.

Scott smiled at him, for just a second he looked incredibly innocent. "This is the only life I've ever known." He patted the rifle he was holding. "I'm pretty damn good at it too. My father's a little jealous of how good a shot I am."

Derek grinned. He liked the kid's confidence. "Let's get everyone inside."


	15. Decisions

**Author's Note:**

**Sorry it's been so long since I updated. Things have gotten a little crazy as spring has set in. Hopefully I'll get on a more regular schedule again soon. Thanks to everyone who has been reviewing, I'm really glad so many people seem to be liking the story still. Things are going to be getting crazy soon. I've got some outstanding messages and email from people, I promise I'll be responding to those tomorrow.**

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><p>Derek regarded the hunters assembled around the table. Scott and his father sat at the far end. Deaton sat opposite the reporter Holland Martin. Stiles sat next to his mother, across from Derek. Holland had mentioned her daughter Lydia had recently discovered the truth about the werewolves in the town after stumbling upon some of her research. She wasn't sure who Lydia had told, but she assumed no one.<p>

"The exchange will be tomorrow night," Derek said. "It will be on our terms at a location of our choosing."

Holland leaned forward. "Do you really think that will matter? You have no idea how many of people in the town have been turned. They're not all sympathetic to the Argents, but they're afraid enough to fall in line."

Mr. McCall frowned. Scott glanced from one adult to the next. Stiles watched Derek silently while his mother and Deaton both watched him. Derek shook his head. There was too much at stake to back out now.

"They're not going to make a move while we have their daughter." Derek hoped that familial ties were something the Argents cared about.

"We'll scout out some areas tonight on the woods outside of town," Scott said. "We can't meet them in the city or the preserve."

"Meeting them in the woods will give them the advantage, too many trees to block line of sight," Mr. McCall said. "That's suicide."

"Dad…"

"I think Scott's right," Mrs. Stilinski said. "I'm not a hunter like most of you, but if people in the town have been turned it's better to meet outside the city limits. Buildings can block line of sight just as effectively as trees. On top of that reinforcements would be easier to hide."

Derek gaped at the woman. She reached out and patted Stiles's shoulder, a small smile played across her lips. Derek agreed with her assessment. He rubbed his knuckles against his eyes. He wanted the meeting to be over so he could rest.

Deaton stood up, leaned across the table and pointed at a location roughly twenty miles outside of town. "This is where we should meet them, neutral ground for both of our factions. It's also an empty field earmarked for new construction."

Scott leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. "What do you think?" He nodded at Stiles.

Stiles shook his head and slipped down further in the chair. Derek wanted to run his hand over the young werewolf's head; he seemed on edge with so many weapons strewn about the makeshift base. Stiles's mother tried to get him to drink some water from a bottle Mr. McCall had given her. He ducked his head and stared at the floor.

Derek sighed. "I agree with Deaton."

Both McCalls and the reporter nodded. Mrs. Stilinski tugged playfully on Stiles's ear until he started smiling and took the bottle of water. Derek thought he might have seen Mr. McCall discreetly checking out the woman. Derek grinned; he'd have his hands full if he tried something there.

"I'm going on patrol tonight," Derek said. "Let's break for—"

"No." Deaton stared Derek dead in the eyes and shook his head. "You are going to rest. You're not going to be any help if you're too tired to think straight."

Derek considered his response, but before he could say anything Mrs. Stilinski turned her brown eyes on him. Derek swallowed. That was a fight he wasn't willing to start. He nodded to her.

"I'm totally going," Scott said. "I even have a new device I want to test out."

"Speaking of new devices, my sister created a form of aerosol bomb out of a rare strand of wolfsbane. I've got a few canisters in my duffle bags." Derek walked around the table to retrieve his bag of weapons. "We've also got a fair number of the rarer aconite shells."

"Blue Monkshood?" Deaton stood and walked around to join Derek in going through the bags. "I'd love to investigate the gas bombs. It'll give me something to do while I guard the prisoner since both McCalls will be going out on patrol."

"Damn, I thought I'd be free of the old man." Scott punched his father in the arm.

"That'll happen when I'm dead." Mr. McCall tried to make it sound like a joke, but it fell flat.

"Don't say that, dad." Scott crossed his arms, unconsciously mirroring Stiles's position down the table from him.

"I'll stay here tonight as well," Mrs. Stilinski said.

Derek smiled. No one was going to separate the mother from the son without a hell of a fight. Stiles looked up to watch Derek. He licked his lips nervously before giving him a small smile. Derek patted Stiles on the head as he walked back around the table.

Derek leaned through the back door to check on Allison. She was still hooded and chained up, locked within a cage carved from mountain ash. Deaton did not take chances with prisoners. He was well prepared.

Derek turned his head back in time to see Scott pulling some sort of electronic device from his backpack. It looked like a radio. The younger McCall had a huge grin on his face.

"So this is my new thing. You know how we use flash bang grenades to mess with the werewolves' enhanced senses? Well this thing it so much more awesome than that." Scott flipped the dial before anyone could protest.

Stiles tipped over backwards in his seat. He didn't make any noise, but he covered his ears with his hands. He rolled out of the chair across the floor trying to get away from Scott. A high pitched scream of pain shattered the silence. Allison's voice was wild with pain.

Scott flipped the device off. "I'm sorry. I didn't know…"

Deaton and both McCalls stared at Derek. Mr. McCall reached for his rifle. He hadn't even gotten his hand on the gun before Mrs. Stilinski was pointing her husband's shotgun at his head.

"Don't even think about it," she said.

"Everyone calm down." Derek belted out. "Stiles is a werewolf, but he's not to be harmed."

Holland scrambled to her feet and backed away from the young man on the floor. "You didn't think that was something worth mentioning? You brought one of them here? Is he a member of their pack?"

"He's my son. That's all that matters." Mrs. Stilinski regarded all the hunters in the room, neck stiff and head high.

"He was the Argent Omega. My sister and I found him in the woods. He's under my protection." Derek walked slowly to Stiles's mother and put his hand on the gun. "No one is going to hurt him."

"A good werewolf?" Scott's voice was soft. "That's awesome!" He dropped the radio onto the table and walked around to kneel next to Stiles on the ground. "Dude, you and I are going to be best friends. Sorry about the audio thing, no one said we had good werewolves."

Stiles cringed away from the young hunter, tried to get behind his mother. Mrs. Stilinski set the gun on the table. She pulled Stiles's into a hug, whispered something to him. Stiles winced at first, but eventually relaxed into her embrace. Scott stared at the floor, picked at a hole in the knee of his jeans.

"I'm sorry," Scott said. "I didn't mean to hurt him."

Mrs. Stilinski nodded at Scott. "He'll be fine. He's just been through a lot."

More than anyone else, Derek knew how much of an understatement that was. He sighed, reached down and ran his fingers over Stiles's black hair. "You're going to be fine. It was an accident."

The hunter in Derek couldn't help but admire Scott's device. If Stiles had reacted that strongly to the device he wondered what a werewolf who wasn't so accustomed to pain might do. He'd never find out, not as long as Stiles was nearby. It wasn't worth hurting the young werewolf, no matter how many opposing wolves he might bring down with it.

"I need to get back to work and check on my daughter," Holland said. "I hope you know what you're doing." She glanced at Stiles.

"I highly suggest that be the last time you make a backhanded accusation at my son," Mrs. Stilinski said.

Mr. McCall let out a low whistle. Holland stiffened and walked out of the room. Deaton seemed absorbed in the arsenal Derek and Laura had amassed over the years.

"I got to say lady; you got a lot of courage. I like that in a woman." Mr. McCall winked at Stiles's mother.

Scott groaned. "Dude, at this rate you and I aren't going to be best friends." He nudged Stiles and winked at him. "We're going to be brothers."

The werewolf gave Scott a lopsided grin. Mrs. Stilinski shook her head and pulled her son to his feet. Derek threw his hands up in the air. The world was going to hell and this was what he had to work with. He couldn't hold in a laugh as he walked into the room with cots set up to sleep on.

He didn't even take his boots off; he just dropped onto the one closest to the door. Sleep didn't come right away. He lingered on the edge. He wasn't sure how much time had passed when he shifted on the cot, his right arm falling off. His hand brushed up against soft cotton. Warm hands gripped his wrist and pulled it.

Derek's eyes opened, Stiles was sitting on the floor against his cot. He wrapped Derek's arm over his shoulder and nuzzled against it. Derek smiled. When Stiles's leaned his head back against the cot and took a deep breath, Derek shifted closer to the edge to brush his face against the back of Stiles's hair. It didn't take him long to fall asleep after that. The last thing he remembered was Stiles's fingers tracing over the scars on his hand.


	16. Lies

**Author's Note:**

**Sorry again guys for the length of time between updates. Got a lot of projects I'm working on, but I won't forget about this story or any of my other ones, so please stick with me. We're in the home stretch of Reverse World, hopefully you are all still enjoying it. **

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><p>Jackson swallowed against the bile rising in his throat. The forest was littered with bullet casings and bodies, blood soaked the leaves that covered the ground. When he'd first seen the people lying on the ground he'd thought they were unconscious, but as he'd gotten closer he realized the horrifying truth. There was a difference between seeing a person and seeing a body, he hadn't known that until he'd gotten close enough that he had to keep going forward.<p>

The people hadn't been killed by animals; he wasn't even sure what could have killed some of them. They were blisters covering some of the bodies, like they'd run through steam so hot it boiled them alive. He gagged and stumbled away from the scene. Somewhere deep inside him he knew that this was a clue to what had happened to Stiles. He wasn't sure why, but it was a certainty that twisted in his guts like a knife. There were things that people weren't supposed to see, people who weren't soldiers, police officers, or doctors, things that regular people weren't prepared for. Some images could never be erased from memory, and Jackson was certain that the sight of the bodies was going to haunt him until he died.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. If there were clues to what had happened to Stiles hidden somewhere in the massacre Jackson needed to find them. He didn't care how many nightmares would plague him if it helped lead him to his missing friend. Stiles wouldn't do any less for him. He turned back towards the nearest body, but a low moan tore through the silence and froze him in place. Sweat trickled down the back of his neck even though his breath curled in white puffs from his lips. He swung his flashlight in the direction of the sound; the single beam of light revealed nothing, the darkness at the edges seemed all the more ominous.

"Help, please, help me."

The words sounded like a desperate prayer from someone who had long ago given up hope on hearing an answer. Despair that was so hollow it left Jackson shaking from a different kind of chill than the air that bit his cheeks and hands laced the rasping voice.

"Is someone there?" Jackson wasn't sure exactly where the pleading was coming from, but no one deserved to be in the kind of pain that could make someone sound so agonized. He took a single step, then another, and before he knew it he was jogging across the brittle leaves and sticks that littered the forest floor. "Where are you?"

No answer came, and Jackson was almost sure that he'd imagined the sound, or that it'd been made by the unhappy ghosts of the people who had been murdered. He closed his eyes and listened. There was no such thing as ghosts, the person who was calling for help was very much alive, and it was his responsibility to find them. A wet cough cut through the silence off to his left. Without thinking he turned and ran in that direction, flashlight sweeping wildly back and forth.

"Here…"

Jackson almost slipped as he came up to a steep decline. He pointed the flashlight down towards the bottom. At the very edges of the light Jackson saw a person crawling across the ground. For the first time in years hope blossomed in his chest when he saw the person had black hair. He ran down the slope, almost lost his balance as he went. The tiny spark in him that prayed that it was his missing friend was extinguished when he saw how dark the person's skin was. Bitter disappointment picked its way through his insides, but he pushed it down. He needed to help the person. That was the most important thing, after that he could find out if they knew anything.

Jackson hopped over a fallen branch, skidded to a stop, and dropped to his knees. "Hey, what happened? Are you okay?" Jackson wished he could take back the words as soon as he'd said them. Of course the person wasn't okay.

"I'm great, now that someone's here to help."

The person rolled over onto his back, and Jackson barely resisted the urge to turn away. He knew the person on the ground, despite the boils that covered his skin and the blood that crusted his face. There was no way Jackson wouldn't recognize Danny. He's spent years watching him, jealous of how popular he was, how rich he was. Jackson sometimes wasn't sure if he wanted Danny, or wanted to be Danny. He was the most popular kid in school, but more than that he was so supremely confidant. A lot of people thought he was a real dick, but Jackson thought there was something more below the surface.

"Jackson?" Danny's eyes opened, but there was no way he'd be able to see. There were no whites to his eyes, just a horrifying spider web of red and black. "Jackson right?"

Jackson wanted to respond, but he couldn't make his lungs work. Blood stained Danny's clothes; it looked like it had poured out of his eyes, his ears, his nose, and even his mouth. He had no idea how Danny could even be conscious, or what could have happened to him in the first place. Danny made a snuffling noise, and then emitted a low whine of pain as blood started to trickle from his nostrils.

"What happened?" Jackson asked the question, but he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer; he just wanted to keep Danny talking while he called for help. He pulled out his phone, but cursed under his breath when he realized there was no signal.

"Poison... need water." Danny rolled back over onto his stomach; his hands churned up dirt as he dug them into the ground and tried to pull himself forward.

"I don't have any water." Jackson had never felt so powerless, not since he'd first been told that Stiles was missing and the sheriff was dead. There had to be something he could do, but he wasn't very familiar with where he was in the woods. He'd been paying close attention to where he'd been going up until the point where he'd walked into the nightmarish scene of blood and death. "I can carry you back to the road; we can hitch a ride back into town."

"No," Danny coughed, a rattling sound that echoed through Jackson's chest. "Stream up ahead. Please."

"Okay, don't talk, I'll get you there. I'm sorry if this hurts." Jackson winced as he gripped Danny's arm and pulled him up. Lacrosse had been great exercise for Danny, his body was sinuous and heavy with muscle. He was the captain of the team, one more thing on the long list of things that Jackson envied him for. He wrapped Danny's arm over his shoulder and stumbled forward. He needed to get Danny to the water; maybe once they were there he'd have a signal and could call for help.

Danny had said he'd been poisoned, but he looked like a couple of the bodies he'd first come upon. He was lucky to be alive, even if maybe he didn't think so at the moment. Being in pain was better than being dead. Danny might have caught a glimpse of who had attacked him.

"Do you know who did this?"

Danny nodded. "There's something else. The person who did this to us, she kidnapped your friend. She and her brother have been torturing him for years for their own amusement."

Jackson nearly tripped, nearly dropped Danny to the ground. "Stiles? They have Stiles? Are you sure?"

Danny let out another cough; blood trickled down from the sides of his mouth. He turned his sightless bloody gaze on Jackson, lips curling up at the very edges. "Yeah, they have him. Help me get to the river and wash the poison off my skin, and I'll help you get him back. The Argents will reward you too for helping them bring the monsters to justice."

Jackson didn't care about a reward, he cared about finding Stiles. Adrenaline surged through his body. After years he finally had a trail to follow. He'd help Danny, and Danny would help him. He'd get his friend back, and maybe make another in the process. For the first time in a long time Jackson felt the cocoon of loneliness that he'd been wrapped up in unraveling.


End file.
